Unbreakable
by Aussiegirl41
Summary: Where cable cars climb halfway to the stars... While out on the town, murder finds the Adamses. A multi-chapter Adamsverse story co-written by Bugsfic.
1. Chapter 1

**Bugs and I have decided to post our A/U series (which we called Adamsverse) here at fanfic net. (I'll post daily hopefully!) We started this story as a 300 word drabble written as a birthday gift, but things soon got out of control and we ended up co-writing several multi-chapter stories in this 'verse. The fics are inspired by The Thin Man movies, as well as some other of our favourites from the era. This is the first fic we posted (on LJ way back in 2010!) but is not the first chronologically. I always recommend you read this installment first, however.**

Laura tried wedging her chunky bracelet into her adorable little clutch one more time. It wasn't going to fit, not with her compact, comb, purse, and evening gloves.

"Bill, darling, could you keep this in your pocket for me?" She held out the piece of jewelry as she peered around the flower arrangement on the foyer's table. _Where were her driving gloves?_

"Of course, Mrs Adams," rumbled a deep voice at her shoulder.

Glancing up to the large mirror hanging over the table, she grinned at the man standing beside her. "Aren't you handsome," she said approvingly, turning to get the full view.

He glanced down at his evening wear. "In this monkey suit?" he said uncertainly.

She smoothed the tailored ivory dinner jacket over his wide shoulders. Just the right shade to complement his sun-burnt complexion, dark hair and vivid blue eyes. His hair was parted neatly down the middle and he'd obviously used a dab of Brylcreem to tame the waves. His face was smoothly shaven, with no sign of the mustache he had sported a few weeks ago.

With a bit of polish, Bill Adams was a handsome specimen, she admitted. However, without it, she found him to be even more attractive. It was his rustic appeal that had first caught her eye.

"Yes, this fits you perfectly," she murmured, straightening his black bow tie.

He was still unsure. "Never had more than two suits in my whole life," he muttered. "Brown and blue one."

She dropped a peck on his cheek. "Thank you for humoring your bride."

"Gotta dress right to go to these swell places, I guess," he mused, but he was onto a new subject. He carefully examined her bracelet. "Not what I'd expect you to wear out on the town. Not one of your sparkles?"

The bracelet was a set of large linked silver squares, each covered with intricate designs and odd characters.

Adjusting the lush fox collar of her evening coat in the mirror, she raised her eyebrows at him. "Sparkles? Have you been hanging out with gangsters?"

He only grinned back. "You'll never know."

She looked at the bracelet too. "I was in Chinatown to pick up Elosha this tonic she takes. From one of those dark little shops with the bearded Oriental man behind the counter. You know the sort."

She blinked at the memory. Had it just been three weeks ago? So much had happened in those three weeks. A few days after acquiring the bracelet, she was rescued by a rugged sailor on the docks, and a week later, she'd married him after an impulsive drive up to Reno.

Bill raised one of his thick dark brows in reply. "Elosha, the voodoo priestess, needs Chinese medicine?"

Laura glanced quickly to the high plastered ceiling, in the direction of the sewing room where her old nanny, now lady's maid, was repairing a torn skirt hem. "Hush, Bill! Don't call her that!"

"She's from New Orleans, she wears that turban...I've docked in that city more than once. I know that type of woman when I see her."

"Has a priestess put a spell on you?" Laura asked playfully as she finally found her gloves in the table's drawer and pulled them on.

He gathered her close, pushed his nose through the thick fur to nuzzle her neck. "Most definitely," he rasped.

Breathless, she stepped toward the door to the garage. "It's such a pleasant evening," she said. "I thought we might put the top down."

Bill slipped into his overcoat, snapped his fedora to a sharp angle, and followed her. "We're taking one of the motorcars?"

"The Rolls town car; it has room for all of us. It seems that Ellen Tigh might appreciate it. I doubt anything could be too ostentatious for her."

Laura had met Ellen Tigh only that morning, in the tea room at the Tigh's hotel, the Mark Hopkins. The woman had just arrived from a mysterious sojourn to the Orient, finally joining her husband. Laura still hadn't ascertained why Bill's best friend's wife had been abroad rather than settled in a home, waiting for her husband to return from sea.

But within a few minutes of meeting her, Laura secretly, or not so secretly perhaps, wished she would sail off again, sensing life would much more pleasant without the blonde woman's presence it. And how could a merchant marine afford to live at such an opulent hotel?

"Maybe you and Ellen will get along better tonight. I know she can be a bit much, but she's probably intimidated by your wealth."

"Which you are not, right?" said Laura, looping her arm through his.

He changed the subject. "It is a nice night; no fog. Why don't we stroll down to Van Ness and grab the cable car?"

She smiled. Bill was so obvious. "William Adams, it's 1939. I think it's time you stopped being scared of driving; automobiles are not a fad."

"Ever thought I might just be scared of your driving?" he mumbled, but nevertheless conceded defeat by clambering into one of the vehicles.

Instead of taking the driver's seat, she tapped on his window. After about another minute of struggling, he eventually wound the window down, and gave her an enquiring look.

"Darling, the Rolls, remember? This is the Hudson."

He pushed open the door and stood beside her. She grinned as he hovered. "The black one," she said, putting him out of his misery.

He chuckled as they got into the Rolls. "At least you know I didn't marry you for your collection of automobiles."

She hummed and laughed again to herself when she saw him immediately grip onto the door handle with one hand and brace the other against the polished walnut dashboard as she pressed the automatic starter.

As she lowered the top and pulled out of the garage, she decided to give it a bit too much gas when rounding the corners on the way to the Tighs' hotel.

Ellen Tigh had insisted the Number One Lychee Club was _the_ place to be seen this season; the crush of patrons waiting to enter would suggest she was right. A looming greeter in a shiny silver dinner jacket parted the crowd for a society page regular like Laura Roslin.

As the coat check girl waited, Bill politely removed Laura's coat and she heard him hiss in her ear as he appreciated her choice. She smiled smugly at his reaction, having deliberately avoided showing Bill her gown until this moment.

It was a sheath of red satin, flowing closely over her body to the toes of her silver sandals. Even though the neckline was modest, the back was bare to the dip of her back, making it obvious she wore no undergarments. Silver threads woven in the fabric caught the club's muted lights, making her shimmer with her every breath.

"You're showing a lot of skin, Mrs Adams."

"I didn't know you were adverse to such a thing, Mr Adams," she retorted as she pulled on her long white gloves, covering her bare arms to her elbow. "Better?" she asked with an arch of her eyebrow.

Bill just gave her his usual enigmatic smile, nestled a hand possessively on her back and followed their escort down the stairs toward a prominent table beside the dance floor.

Behind them, Laura heard Ellen quarreling with Saul about removing her coat for her. "That's what the girl's for!" Saul grumbled.

She smiled up at Bill as she sank into the chair he held out for her.

The other couple finally made their way to the table. Saul flopped into a chair, ignoring his wife pointedly standing by hers. A waiter rushed forward to hold it out for Ellen Tigh. The blonde barked at him: "We need a bottle of champagne!" She smirked across the table at Laura. "The most expensive. Money is no objective, is it, sweetie?"

"No," Laura replied through gritted teeth. "Of course not. Could I start with a martini?" she told the waiter, a bit desperate feeling.

"I'll have a Tom Collins, please," Bill said.

"Oh, Laura and Bill, you're so boring. The rich only drink champagne," Ellen informed them.

"We certainly have a lot to celebrate and toasts will be in order!" Saul Tigh said.

Both the Tighs looked like they had been celebrating from about lunch time to Laura. Every small comment made by Ellen made Saul cackle with laughter. His eyes rested on his wife every few minutes with a look that told all and sundry he thought Ellen Tigh was the wittiest woman in the world.

Ellen, in turn, continued with her _hilarious_ anecdotes at a pace that had become ad nauseam to Laura within the first ten minutes of their drive.

The waiter and waitress arrived with the champagne in a silver ice-filled bucket and a tray of glasses. "I'll have a martini as well," Ellen told the waitress after she'd finished filling the glasses. "I'm sure more than one drink at a time is allowed."

Saul squeezed his wife's thigh under the table. "Excellent idea!"

"Don't you just love the atmosphere of this club?" Ellen added.

"The music's good," Bill said diplomatically, glancing over at the bandstand where the shiny instruments glinted in the glowing lights, bright as the loud jazz beat.

Despite there others' lack of interest, Ellen kept talking. "All the small touches."

"Small touches?" said Laura.

"The wait staff for a start," Ellen replied enthusiastically. "The owner had them all imported from the East so they're authentic."

"Imported?" Laura asked, her top lip twitching.

"Yes. I'm sure they must be so grateful. Makes them work hard, not like locals."

"Yes. I'm sure." Laura was also sure that her sarcastic tone went straight over Ellen's head.

"Oh! There's the owner. Hello!" Ellen called out loudly and waved her arm around in the air. "Jonathan!"

She hoarsely whispered to her party, "He's a friend."

A short man speaking to the party at another table raised his head and nodded at Ellen. He excused himself and made his way through the tables. His appearance was overly flamboyant for an Occidental. He wore a black silk tunic that hung to his knees over black silk pants. He displayed excessive jewelry: a chunky gold watch, several dark onyx rings, gold chains around his neck and wrists.

When he reached the table, Laura saw that he was at least seventy years old, his short-cropped hair obviously dyed black, but his face was deeply lined.

Seeing his jewelry reminded her to ask Bill for her bracelet. He pulled it from his pocket. Thanking him, she fiddled awkwardly with one hand to secure the clasp.

"Here, allow me," Bill said, leaning over to help her.

Jonathan had been exchanging low pleasantries with Ellen Tigh while Saul watched, looking put upon. The dapper man's gaze fell on Laura's bracelet. "That's a beautiful piece of jewelry," he said, his voice oozing like an oil leak on her favorite car.

"It is," Ellen agreed. "Here, Bill, let me. You men are completely clueless when it comes to feminine accessories." She wiggled closer to Laura on her chair.

Ellen must have been drunker than Laura thought. Instead of doing up the bracelet, she yanked it off, making Laura wince with pain. She held it up on the end of her finger.

"It matches the atmosphere here, Laura darling," Ellen said as she studied the markings on the silver links.

"Yes," Jonathan agreed. "Very Oriental."

"True," Laura conceded. "I come by it in an Eastern tea shop."

Ellen continued to study the bracelet. "A smoky little store in a back alley with a tiny Chinaman trading his wares?" She and Jonathan exchanged looks.

"Something like that. May I put it back on?" Laura asked pointedly.

"Oh. Oh, yes, darling." Ellen clipped up the bracelet onto Laura's right wrist with much flourish. "And here's our cocktails!" she said brightly.

A new waitress, a young woman in a red silk high-collared dress with a black dragon embroidered across her chest, her black hair in a bun with chopsticks poking out, carefully placed the two wide-mouthed glasses before the ladies.

"This is Sharon," Jonathan said. "My most trusted hostess. Don't hesitate to let her or myself know if there's anything else you need tonight. It's a great honor to have you here, Miss Roslin."

Laura didn't bother correcting the owner regarding her surname. She would prefer if he, and his intense gaze that settled upon her every few moments, didn't loiter any more than was absolutely necessary. She glanced over at her husband and they shared a look of understanding before the moment was shattered with Saul's enthusiastic voice.

"A toast! To the two most beautiful broads in the universe!"

Even as Laura winced, she felt Bill's chuckle rumble beside her. "Well that I can almost agree on," he murmured.

The jazz band beat out music in two-part rhythm, the tabletop candles wiggled in time, lighting the smoky nightclub. Still, Bill was dissatisfied. "Baby, there's a juke joint down Highway One, near Pacifica."

His redhead, his damn lovely redhead, turned her gaze upon him. "We're here because your best friend's wife wanted to go somewhere...what did she say?" When Laura tipped her head, that russet mane slid off one shoulder, baring the ivory skin and Bill had to remind himself he'd only been married for a week, so staring at her like a starving lion in a roadside attraction was allowed.

"Classy," she said triumphantly.

They watched Saul and Ellen, plastered together and plastered, wander around the dance floor to their own particular tune.

Laura leaned close, her scent and hair twining in his nostrils. "Baby? I told you not to call me that on date number two."

He grinned, eyes downcast. "Sorry, still learning. Considering we got married on date number three."

"You're a fast learner." Her delicate fingers appeared to straighten his tie, but she was actually pulling the ends slightly, unknotting it. In a flash of his mind's eye, he was in their bedroom, sliding the zipper down on the silken confection she called a gown -

"Did we get lucky or what!?" Saul was at his other shoulder, bellowing over the music.

"Yeah." Bill kept his eyes on his wife. He had to get his hands on her now. "Dance with me?"

They found a shadow to nestle in, moving in their own rhythm too.

"Maybe we should call it a night?" Bill said when she pivoted so her hip pressed into his groin.

The band's tune wound down, until the saxophone was the last note standing, long and mournful.

Suddenly, a scream matched that note.

Bill pulled Laura closer into his protective embrace. "What the hell?"

Saul hunched over a long-limbed body draped across their table, their glasses overturned. "Ellen, Ellen!" he cried out.

A burly man pushed his way through the crowd. He checked Ellen's pulse and pulled back her eyelids. He looked up at Saul. "I'm sorry son, she's gone."

"Gone!?" Saul's strangled voice rattled the glasses on the table.

Bill automatically moved to comfort his friend and Laura sank into one of the chairs at their table, her eyes round with shock. She fumbled for her drink, needing something to settle her nerves.

The stranger studied Ellen's body again, and then sniffed at her agape mouth.

"Bitter almonds," the man said to no one in particular.

He rose to his feet and, for a man of his obvious age, reached across the table with lightning speed. He knocked the glass from Laura's lips. "Don't drink that, young lady!" he ordered sharply. "She's been poisoned."


	2. Chapter 2

"I did it, Bill! I killed her!"

As they huddled together at a table, Bill leaned over his friend protectively.

"Saul, what are you talking about?" Bill kept his voice as low as possible, hoping he'd be setting a good example to his distraught friend. The last thing they needed was one of the half-drunk club patrons to imagine themselves as heroes and tell the police they'd overheard a 'confession'.

"I made her drink the poison! It was me!"

Bill tried to keep his words slow and measured. "Saul, you loved Ellen. Since the day you met her. There's no way you killed her or made her drink poison."

"I did! She wanted a drink. Asked me to get her some champagne." The shock of his wife's death, combined with the alcohol that was already in his system, was causing Saul to ramble incessantly. "I was too lazy to get up off my skinny ass and get her one. I told her to just grab the martini and drink that. She said she didn't want a martini; that she wanted champagne. I told her to stop acting like some sort of princess and just to drink the martini."

"It's not your fault, Saul."

"But it is! I gave her the drink. I made her drink it!"

"Stop saying that," hissed Bill. "And sure as hell don't tell the cops that!"

Saul gaped up at his friend, understanding dawning in his tear-filled eyes. "Okay, Bill," he said slowly. "You know how to handle the fuzz."

~~AV~~

"Thank you, Mr Cavil. That's probably all we need from you at this point." The detective sergeant flipped to a clean page in his notebook.

The oily manager's lips twitched like an inquisitive rabbit's. "This has all been very distressing to me, Sergeant. If I can help in any way, please let me know. I'll do anything to ensure this unpleasantness is resolved swiftly."

"We'll do our best." Giles Tyrol looked around the room. They stood in the cramped space that was the Number One Lychee Club manager's office. It was basic: a desk, a bureau against the wall, three battered filing cabinets, and two chairs that he'd come to realize weren't the most comfortable while he'd interviewed Jonathan Cavil. There was none of the Oriental opulence that was on display throughout the rest of the nightclub. One wall had louvered windows overlooking the club floor below. Other than that feature, the office looked as though it could have been transplanted directly from the station.

"There is one way you could help. We need some privacy to interview the club patrons. Could we use this office for the next few hours?"

"Yes, yes." The older man waved his hand around in agreement, his rings flashing in the light. "Be my guest, Sergeant."

Giles gazed through the windows. From here he could see the entire nightclub. With the house lights up, the dance floor and gaudily-painted walls were revealed to be as worn as the office. He'd be able to keep an eye on the other witnesses' interactions as he conducted the interviews. Or, alternatively, he could close the louvers to ensure privacy as he made the witnesses sweat. He noted a wide-shouldered man bent over the victim's husband, whispering urgently in his ear. The bald man was nodding rapidly.

"We talking to the husband next, Pete?" he asked.

His partner, leaning on the wall with his sharply-creased hat tipped at a rakish angle, checked his notebook. "First we got the girl who made and served the drinks. I'll go get her."

Peter Laird flipped him the notebook with Sharon's personal details written on the top of the page before walking out to beckon her into the room.

Fear was clearly evident in Sharon's almond-shaped dark eyes; Tyrol would have to think fast to invent some excuse to rid them of his partner for a few minutes at least.

Like pennies from heaven, one landed in his lap. A man just outside the office, proving the room was by no means soundproof, began calling out that he had nothing to do with the murder and he wanted to leave the nightclub immediately.

"Go and use some of your boyish charm on that lot, will you? And make sure Fig and the other cops are doing their jobs on the doors. No one comes in or out until we say so."

He breathed a sigh of relief when Laird tossed back a 'sure, Chief' and readily complied, showing no hint of suspicion at his request.

After Laird's departure, Sharon immediately started pleading with him. "You have to help me, Chief. They're going to think I did it."

She looked so small and vulnerable. His head told him to stay in control, but his heart wanted to carefully cocoon her tiny frame within the safety of his arms.

"No one's going to think you did it, Sharon."

"Of course they will! I am an Eastern hostess with no family in the city or connections. I serve people drinks seven nights a week!" Her voice became shriller with each sentence. "You think your superiors will want you to bring in one of those rich white folks? No, it will all be much simpler if you just arrest the Chink servant girl."

"Don't use that word."

"Why? You know that's what they'd say if they ever find out about us: 'Chief's been with a Chink.' They won't remember my name. They won't even care. They won't see me as a person. All they'll see is my yellow skin."

"Sharon." It was his turn to plead now. "You're a person to me. You're the person I want to be with for the rest of my life. And I won't let anything happen to you." He reached out and touched her hand, then felt immediately guilty that he did it as covertly as possible.

"You really think a system that says it's illegal for us to even marry will protect me when it comes to poisoning some overindulged gold-digger?"

He frowned. "How do you know she was a gold-digger? You never knew her, did you?"

Sharon looked slightly uncomfortable even as she answered in the negative.

He moved across and closed the louvers.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" he demanded.

"No!" she answered immediately. "I know the type, that's all. You have to believe me, Chief; I had nothing to do with it." She threw herself into his arms and pressed her mouth to his. He immediately responded. If there was one thing that was real in this world, it was the perfect physical relationship he shared with this woman.

"I'll protect you," he vowed.

He needed to assure her this wasn't some fling, even though he had no idea where their future lay. She was correct; they could not marry. But his family and the only career he'd ever had was here in California, where they could never be together in public.

But when she asked, "Promise?" he confidently replied: "Promise."

~~AV~~

Laura sat beside the older man who had diagnosed the cause of Ellen's death. He retrieved a small silver case from the inside pocket of his jacket, opened it and removed a cigarette. He then used the cigarette that was already smoldering in his mouth to light up the new one. The entire ritual meaning that his mouth never went without a stick of tobacco for more than a second.

Something in this action evoked a distant memory and Laura tipped her head to study the older man inquisitively. "Doctor Cottle, is it?"

"Do I know you?"

She was surprised he didn't recognize her from the society pages, but then again, in his crumpled flannel suit and stained tie, he didn't look like the sort to follow the activities of the jet-set in the daily tabloids.

"You were a poker-playing friend of my father's, I believe. Edgar Roslin."

"Little Laura! Of course. Your hair used to be firecracker red and you were covered with freckles!" He looked approvingly at her. "All grown up now."

She couldn't help but allow a giggle to escape. "A bit farther along than that, sir."

He waved a hand in protest. Then his face became serious. "I'm so sorry I missed your father and sisters' funeral. I was in Chicago when it happened, and didn't get back in time."

Suddenly tense, Laura glanced at Bill across the room as he comforted Saul. "I didn't notice who was or wasn't there, Doctor. Really, it doesn't matter."

"It was a great shame none the less," he rumbled.

Her eyes went to Bill again. "I prefer not to linger on the past. I live for today."

The Doctor followed her gaze. "Been married long?"

Her cheeks dimpled with her smile. "A week."

He grinned back. "Ah, I could tell." He watched Bill striding back to Laura. "Your father would like this man, I think. A real man. He worried about his girls marrying city fops or Diamond Jack slicksters."

Even as she laughed, tears came to her eyes. "Thank you, Doctor," she said quietly. She stood and greeted Bill with a quick hug, causing him to give her a quizzical look. Before he could ask, she shook her head. "It's nothing, Darling. Just old times."

"Mr and Mrs Roslin, may I have a word?" A tall young man loomed behind them.

The Doctor rose and excused himself.

"Yes, what is it?" said Laura, trying to be pleasant even as Bill glowered.

"Billy Keikeya, with the Examiner," he said crisply, now that he had their attention. He waved his notebook at them.

Laura narrowed her eyes. "Keikeya...I know that name."

Billy looked worried, his curls quivering. "It's Finnish."

"No..." She tapped her fingernail on her chin. "You write the society column. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, when Herb Caen is off." She smirked. "And it's Tuesday."

"Off your usual beat, eh, kid?" rumbled Bill, pulling Laura close to his side and giving Billy an unfriendly glare.

Billy visible quaked. "Well, yes." Then he glanced over at the tablecloth-draped body and his face lit up. "But I'm sure hoping to break into the crime beat and this is my chance!"

"Hey-" growled Bill.

"I'm sorry." The young man flushed bright pink. "She was your friend."

The Adamses looked uncomfortable.

Regardless, Billy plunged ahead. "If you have a moment, I'd like to ask you some questions-"

Bill planted a big hand in the young man's chest and gently pushed him aside. "No comment."

"Miss Roslin?"

It was the detective who'd arrived after the beat officers. He'd been working his way through the witnesses, interviewing them privately, leaving the others to brood with their distrust and unease. Heavy-set with dark hair, he wore a harangued look despite his apparent youth. His untailored olive-brown suit hung drably on his frame. His hat desperately needed to be reblocked, appearing to have been sodden and crumpled multiple times, only retaining the general shape of a fedora. His dusty, scuffed shoes had walked on by the shoeshine stand.

"It's Adams," Bill said, his patience paper-thin. "Laura Adams."

"I'm sorry," the policeman said, looking down at his notes. "You're Mrs Adams's husband?"

"Yes, Bill Adams."

"Sergeant Tyrol," the policeman introduced himself and shook the hand Bill had politely offered, despite his obvious annoyance at the constant misuse of Laura's name. "We'll take your statements, and then you are free to go."

"What about my friend?" said Bill, not willing to give an inch to the cops.

"Mr Tigh will be questioned later," said Tyrol carefully.

"We'll wait for him to finish," Laura said quickly, checking with Bill.

Tyrol lowered his voice. "You can help your friend by telling us anything you know, Mr and Mrs Adams."

"Of course," said Laura, but Bill remained silent. The sergeant headed to the manager's office, expecting them to follow.

Finally Bill grumbled, "Let's get this over with," and led Laura to the stairs. Uneasy with her usually good-natured husband's manner, she gripped his arm tightly.

~~AV~~

Outside The Number One Lychee Club, the crowd had grown. This time it was ghoulish curiosity that drew them. A tall woman moved among them, seeing if anyone knew what was happening inside. Finally, she gave up and flagged down a cab.

The stout yellow cab labored up the hills until it delivered her to a modern apartment building on Telegraph Hill. The fog had finally rolled in, thick in the darkness, giving her cover. Far below in the bay, the foghorns mournfully called out.

She slipped into the foyer and quickly climbed the stairs, checking over her shoulder with every step.

Rapping on the number three, she waited with her back to the door.

It was flung open, nearly dropping her to the polished marble floor.

The man, his hair long and unkempt like a Bohemian artist, tossed his head back. "You are here at last!" he cried out.

She closed the door behind her. "I'm sorry, Doctor Baltar. I was unexpectedly detained."

Trailing after him, she entered the lushly appointed apartment's living room. She noticed all the windows that stretched along the corner room were uncurtained.

"Do you think you should be working in full view of all your neighbors?"

"Miss Biers, you are not much of a spy," Baltar said playfully. "Hide in plain sight, and all that."

She smiled thinly. "I'll bow to your expertise."

He flopped down in a chair before his parts-strewn worktable. "But speaking of our battle against that bastard Hitler, when shall I be meeting the Consulate-General?" He leapt up and hurried to the windows. "I can nearly see the English Consulate from here, and yet I've never met him. I like to know who I'm working for."

Biers took in a sharp breath. "No, Doctor, you shan't be meeting Sir Evans. We must keep the utmost secrecy for this mission."

She looked in despair at the jumble of parts and pools of oil on the vast work table. "Are you making any progress at all?"

"I've made progress." Baltar picked up a large spring and wrapped it around one finger. "However, I have had no success."

"It looks as though you've completely dismantled the apparatus," she said, not hiding her frustration. "Will you be able to reassemble it?"

"Of course!" he assured her. "But you've promised me the decoding device! I'm merely spinning my wheels until I have that."

Now it was her turn to be evasive. "We expected to pick it up tonight, but there's been a delay."

"A delay!?" he wailed.

"Only a delay. It'll be in our possession shortly."

"I hope so," he said haughtily.

She tried smiling. "Yes, Doctor."

He slithered close. "Miss Biers...Deanna...Perhaps you'd like to sit, take a load off, I believe they say in this country." He grinned, his lips trembling. "May I offer you a drink?"

She gave him a cold glare. "No thank you, Doctor. We must remain professional at all times." She affected an English accent. "Nerves of steel, and all that."

He wasn't sure if she was mocking him or not. He worked so hard on his dialect, repressing his Manchester roots well... He thought. Frankly, if he were her, he'd do something about that rough Colonial accent of hers, but perhaps it was all part of her cover.

"Steel," he repeated. "Perhaps I should get back to work, if I do not have the device."

Her smile was real this time. "Excellent."

She walked to the windows and looked over to the lights of the Pacific Heights mansions. "I will have that device soon, Doctor. Take my word for it. We'll stop at nothing to acquire it."


	3. Chapter 3

Laura gracefully lowered herself onto the hard chair in the manager's office, crossing her legs with a swish of silk and tugged her coat closer for warmth. Bill offered her a cigarette from his case. Pulling one out, she thanked him gratefully; she needed something to calm her jangled nerves.

Leaning to meet the flame of his gold lighter, she inhaled deeply. "What can we tell you, Sergeant?" she said, blowing out smoke.

Tyrol fumbled in his pocket and found his crumpled paper pack of cigarettes. After scratching a match across the desk, he lit one. "You came to the club with Mr and Mrs Tigh?"

"Yes, I drove," said Laura. "We picked them up at the Mark Hopkins."

Tyrol eyed Bill, who lounged in the chair next to Laura. The powerfully built man was leaning back, his outstretched legs crossed over at the ankles, taking deep drags from his own cigarette. This was not the sort of hoity-toity gentleman the detective sergeant was used to dealing with from this class.

"Mr and Mrs Tigh are your friends, Mr Adams?" he hazarded a guess.

"Yes, Saul and I served in the Navy in the War and have been working on the same freighters ever since. He married Ellen about twenty years ago."

"They get along? Or fight a lot?"

Bill exhaled streams of smoke through his nostrils before answering. "They understood each other, Sergeant. I never took too much notice of their petty arguments."

Leaning against the desk, Tyrol crossed his arms and looked from one witness to the other. "So they went at it like cats and dogs and then like alley cats, eh?"

Even as Laura snorted, trying to cover her laugh, Bill frowned. He didn't like blue talk around his woman.

"He ever hit her? Threaten her?" the sergeant asked, rapid-fire.

Bill leaned forward, his intense glare making him seem like a larger man to Tyrol. "Are you accusing my friend of murder, Sergeant? In that case, I think we should call a lawyer."

Tyrol held up his hands. "No, no. But these cases are usually closed pretty damn quick-the husband bumped off his wife."

Laura's eyes sparkled with interest; Bill's face became even more stoic.

"Let's go over the events," said Giles soothingly. "You picked them up at the hotel. Did the victim seem worried, upset?"

"Goodness, no," said Laura. "She was the life of the party. Jokes, all over her husband. If anything, I'd say she was a bit over-excited."

Tyrol scribbled a note down and Laura felt as though she'd said too much. She quickly grubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray.

"And when you got to the club?"

Bill took over. "We ordered drinks, they danced, we danced, she was dead."

"She ordered her drink or did her husband?"

Laura looked at Bill; he remained silent. "She ordered-champagne first. I felt like I needed something stronger, so I ordered a martini-" Bill was holding out his cigarette case, offering her another. She shook her head, momentarily annoyed. He was distracting her.

"Mrs Tigh decided she wanted a martini as well, so she ordered one. Mr and Mrs Tigh drank the champagne for a toast; Mr Adams and I had our cocktails. "

She looked at Bill excitedly. "So it must have been in her martini!"

"I didn't notice," he said, then smiled. "I was admiring your gown."

Tyrol briefly ogled Laura's sleek legs outlined under the heavy red silk gown, but quickly shifted his gaze away when Bill glared at him again.

Laura waved her husband off. She was trying to think. "You're right. They danced, then we got up to dance, and they returned to the table. So we can't say for sure she drank her martini. I suppose she could have drank one of the glasses of champagne and someone had poisoned it?"

"It's time I spoke with Mr Tigh," said Tyrol, flipping the page of his notebook.

"I want to be here," said Bill.

The sergeant glanced at Laura.

"Or we can call that lawyer," added Bill.

Tyrol went to the door and called out to Laird, "Pete, bring up Mr Tigh."

While they waited, Laura asked Bill for a cigarette after all. She wasn't a heavy smoker, but she was on edge tonight. The large police detective seemed to be watching them like some heavy-boned mastiff, ready to pin the first one who tried to escape.

Tigh pushed through the door with his narrow shoulder. "You wanta see me, copper?" he said roughly. Since his friend had left him, Saul's mood had changed.

Bill quickly passed a hand across his eyes as though wiping a headache away. Laura coughed on her cigarette's smoke.

"Why don't you have a seat, Mr Tigh," Giles suggested, but there were no more chairs. Bill stood, offering his. He dropped a heavy hand on Saul's shoulder, holding him steady.

"Mr Tigh, do you have any idea who would want to harm your wife?" asked Tyrol.

"No one! She lit up every room she entered!" Saul laced his fingers and gripped his hands until they turned white. His mood had collapsed back to the maudlin.

Laura puffed on her cigarette and avidly watched him.

"She live here in San Francisco?"

"She didn't like to be tied down," Saul explained. "I was done with my latest cruise; would be looking for another one. So she was to meet me here and we'd blow through my packet. But she missed her boat in Shanghai and didn't get here until yesterday."

Tyrol looked from Bill to Laura. "What were you doing while you waited?"

Saul blinked. "The usual. Drinkin', seeing some fights, playin' cards, takin' in some shows on Polk Street, went to Bay Meadows for the ponies a coupla times."

"Did you run up any debts, Mr Tigh?" Tyrol ask dryly.

"Debts?" The last of Saul's bravado disappeared.

"Do you owe money to anyone? Obligations you couldn't meet? Maybe some fellas waiting outside your hotel, wanting to have a little talk?"

"No, none," Saul insisted, sweat appearing on his brow. Bill squeezed his friend's shoulder.

Tyrol slowly paced the room. "Can you give us names of anyone you think might hold a grudge against you or Mrs Tigh?"

"I've had my share of quarrels." Tigh shrugged helplessly. "Folks who thought I was a damn ass." He looked up frantically at Bill. "Surely no one would kill my Ellen for that?!"

Bill muttered reassurances, but the detective sergeant lifted his shoulders and dropped them with a world-weary judgment.

Tyrol lit another cigarette and squinted at his suspect through a curtain of blue smoke. "We hear your wife had a reputation."

Bill offered Saul a cigarette and his friend gratefully took it. "What are you talkin' about?" he asked with contrived nonchalance.

"Men, Mr Tigh. Other men."

Saul held his cigarette with shaking fingers and shrugged again.

"How did that make you feel?"

"I wasn't always happy with it," Saul answered, dropping his gaze in shame. "Ellen had needs, but it never meant she took what we had for granted. I accepted her how she was-a passionate woman." Saul sat up straighter in his chair and tilted his chin defiantly.

Laura tilted her head, thinking about what he'd said. A double-edged love.

"Did she have a new guy on a string here in San Francisco?"

"No. When we're together, that's all she needs."

"Are you sure? Knowing about your wife's stepping out while you're gone is one thing. Having some new gent waiting in the wings is another."

"No!" Saul tried to jump up, but Bill held him to the chair. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm not trying to say anything, Mr Tigh." Tyrol ground out his cigarette and returned to his notebook's tattered pages. "I'm just running through a list of the usual motives with a case like this. There's jealousy. There's money, but Mrs Tigh wasn't wealthy." He glanced at Laura.

"So, you're admitting you suspect Saul?" Bill interrupted.

"I'm looking at everyone, Mr Adams," said the police detective, but there was little conviction in his voice.

Bill gritted his teeth. "Can we go now, Sergeant?" he asked Tyrol. Laura was visibly drooping and Saul was wrung out, staring at his twisting hands with bleary eyes.

"One more thing," said the detective.

Laura held her breath.

"Did you see which glass your wife drank from, Mr Tigh?"

"No, sir," Saul said promptly without looking at his friend.

Tyrol sighed. "Okay. You can go." The detective wrote in his notebook. "Yes, but don't leave town." He looked at Saul. "I need to be able to reach you at any time, Mr Tigh."

"He'll be at our address," Laura said, earning her husband's grateful smile.

Saul looked up, blinking. Bill pulled his friend out of the chair. "Come on, Saul. We'll go pick up your things at the hotel."

Tyrol stopped them. "I"ll send Officer Laird along. Mr Tigh can take his belongings after they're checked, but his wife's will go with us."

Saul's mouth fell open. "What?"

Bill pulled his friend along. "Come on, Saul. "

Laura aimlessly wandered the sophisticated hotel room while the neat little police detective packed up Ellen Tigh's things. Despite the Mark Hopkins' rarefied atmosphere, the Tighs had made it their own. The ashtrays overflowed, leaving the air stale and sharp. Empty bottles lined up on the bureau and tumblers left white rings on the bedside tables.

Saul and Bill were collecting his possessions and clothes, much less than Ellen's, and ignored the policeman.

Laird carefully folded each perfume-saturated garment and stacked them in the cheap cardboard suitcase.

"You're very good at that," Laura observed, needing something to say to someone.

He gave her a quick smile. "My wife's trained me well."

Murmuring her agreement, Laura excused herself, telling the men she'd meet them downstairs.

Occupied by his friend, Bill only nodded in acknowledgement.

In the lobby, Laura asked to speak to the manager. She expected the Tighs' bill to be large, and wanted to pay it before Saul came down.

"No, Ma'am, their account is current," said the dapper manager, shooting his cuffs to reveal gaudy gold cufflinks. He smiled at Laura ingratiatingly.

"Current?" she replied, surprised.

"Yes, in fact, as soon as we've inspected the room, we will be refunding Mr Tigh the balance."

Laura furrowed her brow. A sailor just off the sea would normally have plenty to squander, but not if he had a wife who seemed to spend it as soon as he was paid.

Sensing her confusion, the manager leaned closer to confide. "Mrs Tigh was asked to pay a week in advance, you see. Which she did, in cash."

"She was?"

He twitched his pencil-thin mustache. "The hotel's policy is to request payment in advance with certain patrons. It's a sense we've developed, you understand."

"Yes, I do understand," Laura said slowly, still thinking. She pulled one of her cards from her clutch. "Please forward any correspondence for the Tighs to my address."

He bowed at the waist. "Of course, Miss Roslin. And if there's anything else-"

"I'll let you know," she said crisply.

In the foyer, she found the men waiting. Officer Laird had sealed the room and carried off Ellen's bags, leaving the three friends loitering. She forced a smile onto her face and slipped her arm through her husband's. "Let's go home, gentlemen."

While Bill settled Saul into one of the guest rooms, Laura told them she intended to make their guest a late supper to settle his stomach, ignoring their surprised protests.

Elosha joined her in the kitchen. "What are you doin' with that apron on?" she fussed at the younger woman.

Laura grinned. "I'm just going to scramble some eggs and make toast. I think I can manage."

Her maid hopped up onto a stool, tucking her small, silk-slippered feet under her bright gown. "I'll just keep an eye on you. I want to make sure you don't burn the house down."

Laura turned to the stove, her smile fading for a moment.

"So who's this fellow your man's brought home?" Elosha's bright eyes glowed with curiosity.

"It's a long story, dear." Laura sighed and poured the scrambled eggs into the frying pan. "I really don't have the energy to tell it all tonight."

"I said that man would bring you nothing but trouble."

Hearing her old friend's tone, Laura glanced over her shoulder. "So you think I needed some trouble in my life?"

"Most definitely."

Before Laura could reply, Bill poked his head around the kitchen door. "Why don't I take that tray up to him? I don't think Saul will be able to show you ladies his usual social niceties tonight."

Laura chose not to give her opinion on this. She washed up quickly; it wouldn't do for Helga the cook to find her kitchen dirty in the morning. Elosha watched, nodding her head in approval.

"Okay, little girl. Time to put you to bed. You're ready to drop," the older woman said, gently leading Laura from the kitchen.

At the top of the stairs, they met Bill. "He's set," her husband said. "He'll be all right for the night."

He put his arm around Laura's waist. Looking pointedly at Elosha, he stated: "We're set too. Thanks, Elosha."

Tension in the air, Laura wasn't sure if she should speak up. Before she could, Elosha conceded the floor with a nod. "Good night, Mr and Mrs Adams." She walked away with the whispering of her silk gown.

Bill guided Laura into her bedroom. "For the life of me, I don't understand why any grown man or woman needs someone else to take their clothes off for them," he rumbled.

Laura protested. "This gown has a hidden zipper. It could tear easily."

"That's what husbands are for." Bill cocked his head and sought the fine zipper with his sensitive fingertips.

Laura tried to concentrate despite his delicate touch. "Surely it was a mistake, Bill. Why would anyone kill Ellen Tigh in the middle of a crowded club?"

He dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder blade as he continued his hunt and grunted for a reply.

"A hotel room, some squalid fight, a gun, yes," she mused, the scene vivid in her imagination.

"So bloodthirsty," he grumbled. "Maybe I should limit those crime story pocketbooks you squirrel away in your bedside table."

"I'm just curious-" She gasped. His fingers tickled her spine; they had found the sliver of a tab to tug down.

When the fabric parted, he could see she was indeed naked under the gown. He snuggled up behind her, supporting the dress as it slid down her arms, pooling in his big hands. Pushing aside her hair with his nose, he nibbled at her arching neck. All concern for his friend and curiosity about Ellen's death fled his mind.

"Elosha can't give service like this."

Her laugh was breathless. "No, certainly not."

"Where's your robe?" he murmured.

She stepped from her gown and snagged her ivory satin robe that Elosha had left out earlier across the chair before her vanity. When she slipped it on, he frowned in mock distress.

Looking around, he held out her gown. "Where's a hanger?"

"Just toss it over the chair," she said. "Elosha will take care of it tomorrow."

He frowned for real this time, and she decided he was particularly attractive to her when grumpy; he was a challenge then.

"You're overdressed," she said, her voice dropping to a low, husky register.

"I'm not putting on that fancy silk robe you got for me," he insisted, tugging loose his tie and popping the top buttons on his shirt.

She sat at her vanity and started to brush her hair, but was quickly distracted by the sight of him undressing in the table's mirror. She laid the brush aside, and supporting her suddenly heavy head on her hand, just watched the show.

She loved to see him like this. In her nest of femininity-with the creamy plaster walls, deep white wool carpets, shell-pink organza curtains-his olive-skinned, sturdily muscular frame stood out like a bull in a china shop, but in an arousing way.

Aware of her gaze, he draped his now naked body across the foot of her bed, lolling on the thick satin duvet.

She collapsed in giggles. "Silly," she chided him when she caught her breath.

Only to lose it again when he ordered: "Come over here."

Her legs jelly, she walked slowly to her bed. Stopping before him, she looked down, openly admiring her new husband.

He reached out and slid his hand up her satin-encased thigh. "Saul sure loved that crazy dame," he said sadly, finally unable to ignore the evening's events.

Laura hummed, wanting to keep his vulnerability floating before her like a delicate soap bubble. She was still learning his moods, and this was a new one.

And then it popped. "You're tired," he suggested with seductive coyness as he loosened the knot of her robe.

"I am exhausted, but my mind's just going a thousand miles a minute," she confessed. "What happened tonight...why did it happen?"

"Shush," he urged. "You need to find something new to think about."

"Like what?" She sank onto the bed with him.

"We'll find something," he said as he swept the robe from her shoulders. "Great minds think alike."


	4. Chapter 4

Warm breath tickled at the back of Laura's neck. Still half-asleep, she groped behind her head, sinking her fingers in lush hair. "Mornin-" she mumbled.

A long tongue licked her ear.

"Ugh," she grumbled, cracking her eyes open.

Two big brown playful eyes looked back and the tongue licked her nose.

"Jake," she groaned. "Bill, darling, your dog-"

"He's your dog too," Bill said from where he stood knotting his tie beside the bed. "Community property. I get the mansion, the cars, the yacht, you get the dog."

"Swell." She pushed the shepherd off the bed to the floor.

After straightening his finished knot, Bill bent down and briefly kissed her sleep-flushed cheek. "I'm just going to check on Saul."

When the door clicked closed, Laura let her eyes drift shut again, hoping to catch up on last night's lack of sleep, only to be disturbed by the sensation of someone watching her. Opening one eye confirmed Jake sat beside the bed giving her a mournful look.

"Why didn't you go with your master?" she asked.

Jake's tail moved from left to right once in a slow swing, ending with a thump on the carpet.

"I don't have any food," she explained when the dog continued to sit faithfully.

His tail thumped back to the other side at the sound of her voice.

"Mmm. All right. Ten minutes. Then we really have to get up." She patted the bed behind her and Jake immediately leapt up to snuggle into the small of her back. "Can't resist an Adams' man's imploring gaze," she mumbled, drifting off again.

Finally dressed herself, Laura sat the breakfast table reading the gossip column beneath the headline for the Baghdad by the Bay Chatter, by Mr Wags:

 _Has Madcap Heiress Laura Roslin Gone Crazy?_ - _First Miss Roslin married a sailor she met on the docks after only one week. Now she's been dining with a dead body. Has the flower of one of our fair city's finest families gone too far? Always one to dance to her own drummer, we might not be too bold to wonder if, since passing a certain age, she's gone from merely madcap to unhinged?_

She flipped the paper over resolutely. But only saw ever worsening news; despots, famine, droughts. She shook her head. "Really, I'll be so bold as to wonder if this world would be better served by a few women presidents or prime ministers."

Saul and Bill exchanged looks across the table. Jake sighed and lowered himself to the floor, all hope lost for bits of bacon.

"That Keikeya kid's story ain't half bad," Bill said, tossing her the San Francisco Examiner. "At least he's got the facts straight."

"And he got his story on the front page," Laura said with pride. "If lower left hand corner. Sad that murder doesn't even rate above the fold."

"Good morning!" A neatly-dressed woman breezed into the room and poured herself a coffee from the large silver carafe on the sideboard.

"You're early," Laura noted.

"No, you're late. But after reading all about your high jinks this morning in the tabloids I'm surprised you're awake at all. Shouldn't a party girl like you be resting up?" Her secretary's voice was laced with her obvious displeasure of her boss's involvement. "My day's going to be just peachy. Fielding calls from the press and Roslin Industries clients alike. Assuring them that you haven't gone completely bonkers."

Emily lifted the lid on the serving platters and sniffed the contents of each warily.

"Maybe, with all that extra work, you should think about giving yourself a bonus," Laura offered dryly. "Help yourself," she added, as Emily flopped down beside her with a plate now piled with food.

"Better yet," Emily said between bites, "I could arrange for a raise. Oh, I forgot." She reached inside her large sensible handbag. "Your tickets."

Laura took the tickets and frowned. Then, she handed them back. "See if you can get a refund." She smiled over at her husband. "We're going to have to postpone our honeymoon until this whole mess is sorted out."

Emily sighed. "I guessed as much. Such a shame. I was looking forward to some free time without you breathing down my neck." She paused, her forkful of food hovering between her plate and mouth. "I should see if Mr Zarek wants to use them," she added thoughtfully.

Bill chuckled. He enjoyed his wife getting a little of her own medicine. Elosha and Emily were the only two people in the world who had the confidence to speak to her in such a manner.

Laura wasn't paying attention to her secretary's nagging. She looked at Saul Tigh with narrowed eyes. He was still in his bedclothes, dressed in the pale yellow silk pajamas and purple robe she'd given Bill. His skinny white shanks stuck out of the too-short pant legs. She shifted her gaze to Bill, cocking an eyebrow.

He read her thoughts and leaned over to murmur in her ear: "He didn't want to wear his own things. They smell of Ellen."

Laura shuddered delicately, the cloying odor of Ellen's perfume still in her senses.

"Emily, please let Tom know I appreciate the extra work you'll be doing while I'm engaged with this situation-"

"I think you should concentrate on your upcoming charity ball and leave the amateur sleuthing to others," Bill broke in abruptly.

Hurt, Laura moved her eggs around the plate with her fork. Jake thumped his tail encouragingly.

Saul peeked under the table as though he noticed the dog was there for the first time. "A dog. Why was the first thing you did after going on permanent shore leave was get a damn dog, Bill?"

He smiled at Laura, lightening her mood. "I thought I'd need a faithful companion for my golden years. Didn't expect to pick a pretty doll up off the docks. But I couldn't very well toss him overboard just because he was replaced in my heart."

"I always told you wandering around the docks alone at night would get you in trouble," Emily said tartly to Laura. Then realizing her faux pas, she clarified. "I mean, you were fortunate Mr Adams was there to rescue you."

Laura would not be dissuaded. "We don't believe for a moment you were involved in...it...Saul, but do you have any idea why someone would want to harm Ellen?"

Bill frowned; she ignored him.

Saul pushed his plate away. "I didn't sleep a wink all night, Mrs Adams-"

"Laura, please," she urged.

"Everyone loved Ellen," he wailed and fumbled for his cigarettes in the robe's pocket.

Laura and Bill's gazes met across the table.

Emily stood. "I should get to work. I'll be in your study, Miss-Mrs Adams."

"Thank you, Emily." Laura turned back to the despondent widower. "I could see that, Saul," she said soothingly. "So perhaps it was an accident?"

"It sounded like that doc thought it was cyanide," Bill said gloomily.

"I know that doctor," said Laura thoughtfully. "I think he would help us if I asked nicely."

Bill smiled to himself. "A lot of men find you hard to refuse," he said, low.

"Cyanide." Saul shook like Jake after a bath. "I've seen rats dying of that stuff-"

Grasping his hand, Laura squeezed it tightly. "Don't think about it, Saul. I'm sorry I even brought it up."

He gulped his coffee.

Laura continued. "Ellen seemed to have a great deal of money. Had you given it to her?"

"Money?" Saul blinked his red-rimmed eyes.

Bill cleared his throat in warning.

"Yes, Saul. The management at the Mark Hopkins said she'd paid in advance for the week. Had you given her that money?"

"God, no! I knew better than to give her more than pin and booze money for the day," he admitted ruefully.

Thoughtful, Laura drummed her fingers on the table. Eventually, she stood and folded the newspaper under her arm.

"You're right, Bill. There's a few things I need to sort out with Emily," she announced, heading off to the study.

~~AV~~

The butler was opening the front door for Laura when the familiar deep baritone of her husband stopped both of them in their tracks.

"Going somewhere, darling?" he asked. "Without me?" he added.

"Yes," she said, deliberately avoiding any elaboration. Old Jaffee stared straight ahead, as though hoping to go as unnoticed as a piece of statuary.

Bill merely raised an eyebrow instead of phrasing his next question out loud. Laura would need to think fast.

"I was...just taking Jake for a walk!" She felt triumphantly proud of her inventiveness. The feeling didn't last long.

"So...where's Jake?"

"I was just finding his lead first." Laura cleared her throat. "Do you know where it is, darling?" Jaffee's eyes shifted to the foyer's closet door but she didn't notice.

Bill did. "Somehow I doubt it's out the front door," he said dryly. "Why don't you try the coat closet?"

She smiled brightly as Jaffee opened the closet and retrieved the leash. She gratefully accepted it. Heading back towards the door, she paused just long enough to give Bill a quick peck on the cheek. "You're so clever, darling."

"You should stop reading those stories in the daily rags about you being the ditzy girl around town. They're starting to rub off."

She giggled just a little too loud.

Bill pursed his lips, turned and gave one quick whistle. The sound of his nails clipping on the polished marble floors announced Jake's arrival before either of them caught sight of his motley coloring.

"I'll just get my hat and coat and join you."

Jaffee shifted toward the closet door again, but waited for his mistress to approve.

"No!" Laura knew Bill wouldn't approve of the tactics she was thinking of employing. "You should stay. Saul needs you. I won't be long. I'll see you before lunch," she promised, snapped the lead to Jake's collar, and slipped out the front door.

~~AV~~

"Chief, here's that ships' manifests you wanted." His saucy young secretary tossed the folder onto Sergeant Tyrol's desk.

He took a deep draught of his tar-black coffee and smiled at her. "Thanks, Cally."

She smiled back, her expression softening. "Anytime, sir."

"That's a good girl," he said, but his gaze had already dropped as he read through the first list. No Ellen Tigh on the _Oriental Queen,_ the name on the ticket in her purse.

But on the _Mandarin Dancer_ , arriving in port a week earlier, there was Ellen Tigh...and Jonathan Cavil. Sailing on the same ship from Shanghai. Coincidence?

She must have been catting around with the oily club owner, but was that a sign of something more insidious at work?

If Saul Tigh had discovered this information, it certainly would have enraged any husband, even one as understanding as Tigh claimed to be. Tyrol opened another folder with a report of witness's statements from Saul Tigh's vessel the _Passion Flower_. What he read had him reaching for the phone.

"Get me a warrant signed out for Saul Tigh's arrest. Then Figurski and a squad car. We're going to make an arrest."

~~AV~~

"Good morning," Laura tapped on the counter to attract the attention of the overly made-up young girl who was talking on the telephone while simultaneously flicking through the fashion periodical perched on her lap.

"Hang on, Mavis." The girl stood and Laura was temporarily distracted by her extremely snug blouse and skirt. Obviously the personnel department of the Examiner had certain priorities when it came to their receptionists' qualifications.

"I wish to see Mr Keikeya."

"Key-ki?"

"He's a reporter," Laura added helpfully. "For the society column...Or crime beat?"

Rolling her eyes at Laura's apparent uncertainty, the receptionist motioned at the hard bench against the wall. "Take a seat, ma'am. I'll be with you in one moment."

Laura sat, bringing Jake to sit at her feet. The dog reminded her she was on a tight schedule. Bill was sure to become anxious if they were absent for too long.

The door at the far end of the lobby opened and she spied a web of desks and typewriters. The receptionist and Mavis continued with their conversation. "Come on, Jake." She tugged on Jake's leash and strode confidently through the door.

The newsroom buzzed with the continuous chatter of squabbling reporters, jangling telephones and the rattling teletype. Laura weaved her way through the desks, leaving stunned silence in her wake as the reporters instantly recognized her.

Billy's lofty height worked to Laura's advantage, and she soon stood beside his clean and neatly organised desk.

"Miss Roslin!" He leapt up, only to become tangled in his chair's leg. He righted the chair, straightened his tie and smoothed back his unruly curls.

Laura lowered herself elegantly into an available chair to prevent the lad from unnecessarily towering above her.

She tugged off her gloves and leaned toward him with an intimate air. "Mr Keikeya, I have limited time, so I'll cut straight to the chase. Is everyone duly impressed that I'm visiting you?"

Billy glanced over her head and saw that the entire floor's employees' eyes were indeed riveted in their direction.

"It would appear so, Miss...Mrs Adams."

"I'm sure that you could be promoted full time to the crime beat if you were to be granted an exclusive interview by key witnesses of the Ellen Tigh murder?"

"You-"

"Yes," she cut in. "And my husband."

"Mr Adams will agree to an interview?" Billy's voice was incredulous. Laura almost snorted that the boy had rightly determined Bill's reluctant nature when it came to publicity after their brief encounter at the nightclub. "That would be swell, but are you sure-"

"He'll agree. Especially if it assists his friend's case." Her voice portrayed more bravado than she felt. "I just want you to let me know if you get any information that will corroborate with Saul Tigh's innocence."

"I'm not sure there's anything I can tell you that you don't already know."

She smiled. This boy was too honest. The typical reporter would have concocted some juicy bit of gossip to offer up as an incentive.

"I've heard from a source that the police have determined the martini was definitely laced with cyanide," he finally offered.

"How nice that you already have a mole...I believe they're called?" she said excitedly.

He blushed.

Laura tapped her chin, thinking. "Seems such an elaborate way to kill someone," she mused.

"It is rather unusual, but not unheard of. In fact, just over a week ago there was another victim who shared the same fate."

"Another cyanide poisoning? In San Francisco? Is there a connection?"

"The police aren't looking for one. But it does seem odd. A Chinese man, um-" Billy flicked through some papers in one of the wire trays on his desk, "a Mr Wu who sold elixirs behind the guise of a legitimate tea and herbal business was found dead over his afternoon tea service. The police presumed it was some Chinatown hanky-panky-opium dealing, perhaps. But they didn't bother to speak to his family."

"But you did?" guessed Laura.

He looked shame-faced. "I was hoping it was murder; even suicide. But his family swore he was an honest man-if skirting city regulations on drug dispensing. And would never kill himself."

Now it was Laura's turn to blush as she remembered picking up one of those potions for Elosha. Then something struck her.

"Wu?" The bracelet hidden beneath the sleeves of Laura's jacket suddenly weighed heavily on her arm. She'd put it on before going out, feeling it would be a small gesture to symbolize her mission-and now it felt like Ellen Tigh's cold hand from the grave.

"Do you know the name of the store?" She held her breath, fearing her imagination was running away with her.

"Er-" Billy consulted his notes again. "The Happiness Day Shop."

Laura jumped up out of her seat.

"Thank you, Billy," she said abruptly. She pulled out one of her address cards, hoping he wouldn't notice or question her shaking fingers. "Call me if you discover anything else you think may be helpful."

"Yes, ma'am."

As she tugged on her gloves, her thoughts raced.

 _Had she been the intended victim?_


	5. Chapter 5

Laura needed to get home to Bill as soon as possible.

Leaving the newsroom, she paused in the foyer beside the still chattering receptionist's desk. This was a startling reaction for Laura, one that had been long dormant since before her father's death. Now there was someone who would be her solid voice of reason. He'd take her in his arms and tell her quite calmly and logically that she was simply jumping to conclusions.

On a mission, Laura headed toward the bank of elevators.

"Mrs Adams," a voice stopped her just as she had punched the elevator button.

She paused and turned to politely nod at the Examiner's Editor-in-Chief. "Mr Cantrell." As always, she had to control the impulse to stare at his astonishingly bad toupee

"We weren't expecting you." He looked down. "And you brought your dog as well."

"I didn't think you'd mind, considering his name's Jake. Please don't take any offense in the coincidence; Bill didn't even know of you when he named his dog."

"How is your husband? Introducing you to some... Interesting new friends?"

She gave Jacob Cantrell a thin smile, only wanting to escape. "I'll let him know you said 'hello'. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to know you're thinking of him," she added as she stepped into the elevator that had thankfully arrived.

On the street, she stopped to collect her thoughts. Before returning home, she must go to her family jeweler, Shreve and Company, but it was too far to walk. Should she take a cab or retrieve her auto from the parking lot?

Jake had his own idea. The dog, who up until this moment had been a model of obedience, dragged her bodily down the sidewalk, causing her to wobble on her too-high heels.

"Jake!"

Her scolding tone fell on deaf ears and Jake strained against his leash harder.

"I think I'm the problem," a voice rumbled.

Concentrating on the dog, Laura hadn't seen Bill. He leaned against the Examiner building, his hat slouched forward over his eyes. She let Jake's lead go and the dog bounded forward to his master's feet. Bill petted him affectionately, then straightened and regarded her coolly.

She resisted throwing herself into his arms with relief.

"Are you going to scratch behind my ear?" she asked flippantly instead.

"No. Most men would think it was fitting to give you a cuff behind one."

Bill watched uncertainty flicker across her face even though they both knew he would never raise a hand to her. She was going to be a tough nut to crack, and a sledgehammer wasn't going to work. He'd try constant, steady pressure instead.

"But not you?" Her voice was raspy.

He linked one of her arms through his and picked up the lead to take over the duty of guiding Jake. His hand lay over hers, and his thumb found bare skin between the top of her glove and jacket sleeve and rubbed her pulse in gentle circles.

"Let's get a drink," he suggested, his gaze warm.

"Would you hail a taxi instead, darling?" she said.

"A cab?" he asked, confused, looking at the line of pressmen's bars along the block.

"Yes, I need to run an errand before we get that drink."

"Where are we going? I'm sure a streetcar will do." He craned his head to see if one was coming down Market Street.

She peeked at him around her hat's jaunty brim. "I can't decide if you're too cheap to pay for a cab or the thought of getting inside an automobile again is what's put you out."

Bill grunted and flicked his finger into the air, instantly gaining the attention of an available cab.

"Before meeting you, I had travelled in cars once or twice without panic. It's the combination of you and cars I have issues with," he said, holding the door open for her.

She leaned forward to give the driver their destination before relaxing back against the leather. She arched an eyebrow at Bill. "So you admit you're opposed to paying the extra dollar that a cab involves. You may have missed it, but I have several million dollars at my disposal."

The cabbie's eyes widened in the rear view mirror. He'd been about to tell them 'no dogs' but closed his mouth.

Bill tipped his hat back, unaffected by her ribbing. "Why waste that dollar if the streetcar gets us there just as easily?"

"Easily! We'd have to change at Union, then walk four more blocks-" She sighed. When she'd first noticed Bill's reluctance to spend money freely, she'd assumed it was because he didn't want to appear to be his wealthy bride's kept man. But she soon realized that it didn't matter if the funds came from his carefully accrued retirement savings or her millions in assets. She had married a penny-pincher, an ironic situation for an heiress.

"I'm not a cheapskate; I'm frugal," said Bill, doing that unsettling mind-reading of his. "Blame my Yankee trader grandfather. From him, I get my Anglo name, my blue eyes, and these tight purse strings."

Jake cocked his head as though agreeing; a dog always takes his master's side.

"But I have an appreciation for the finer things in life," he added. She blushed as his gaze travelled slowly up her ankles and sleek calves before focusing on the soft curves of her upper body. "I'll pay any price for them."

He lifted her left hand and tugged off the glove. "Like your ring. I fell in love with it at first sight in Mexico and had to have it. And because I'm so-"

"Frugal," she said with a smile.

"I could pay cash on an impulse purchase," he said, nodding.

She admired the unusual band. It had no expensive gem or fine filigree of gold, but she would not exchange it. It was heavy and solid, like her man, with interesting carvings around the band and a milky green stone set in it.

"Why are we going to that fancy jewelry store anyway?" he asked.

The cab pulled up at the corner of Post and Grant Street. "I'll explain inside," Laura said.

Bill paid the driver and came around to let Laura and Jake out. "Sudden urge to add another bauble to your collection?" he hazarded a guess.

She flashed him a smile. "I might be adding to yours. I have noticed you need a new watch."

Bill patted his pants' pocket. "I've had this watch for over twenty years and-"

"Exactly," she injected, grinning still.

"And it hasn't missed a beat."

"Wrist watches are all the fashion. So much more convenient." She stopped before the window to admire the display. "Cartier has some lovely models-"

"Harrumph."

"So, if you never married me for my cars or my jewelry, what did you marry me for?" she teased, well aware of the answer before she'd asked.

Playing along, he dipped his head; his voice low, husky. "Jake isn't the only one who enjoys sleeping in your bed, Mrs Adams." He held the store's door open for her.

She was emitting a low hum when Michael Spencer, a jeweler who had served her father when he had picked out his fiance's engagement ring over fifty years ago, approached them.

"Mrs Adams, I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon. There isn't a problem with the ring, I hope." His smooth tone betrayed the tiniest bit of his anguish at their selection of a single gold band for Bill and no diamond ring for her, only the resizing of Bill's gift.

However, Spencer gained one advantage in Bill's eyes by at least remembering her new name.

"No, no, I came to ask a favor." She pulled up her sleeve to reveal the linked bracelet. "I was wondering if you could appraise this little trinket for me. You know what my lawyers are like; insurance and what have you."

"You bought it from one of the other houses?"

"No, it was a gift."

Spencer gestured toward Bill, his eyebrows raised in query.

"No, I received this before I met my husband. That's half the problem, I'm afraid. The man who gave it to me has recently passed away." Bill's head swiveled at this news, curious at the implication of this statement immediately. "I don't know any of the bracelet's history. I was hoping you may be able to fill in some of the blanks."

The elderly man peered at the piece, holding it up to the light and frowning. Moving to a desk at the back of the store, he continued to study it with an eyeglass under a lamp. After some time, he finally removed the loupe from his spectacles and joined them again.

"Tell your lawyers not to bother. I'm sorry. It's worthless."

"What?"

"It's only polished steel. In a few months, it will tarnish."

"What about the raised symbols on the links? They don't hold any special significance? Perhaps it's just one of those unimpressive but historically important pieces?"

Bill peered over her shoulder at the bracelet, really looking at it for the first time.

"No, ma'am. The symbols resemble Chinese characters, but they're gibberish. Neither the design or materials are what I would expect to find on an authentic Oriental antiquity. I'm sorry, Mrs Adams."

When they emerged from the store, Bill immediately led Laura to the nearest saloon. After waving off the waiter's protest over Jake's presence with a five dollar bill, Bill handed her into a high-backed booth. He ordered drinks to get rid of the now solicitous waiter, and lit a cigarette for her, then one for himself.

"Lemme see that thing," he ordered, retrieving his watch from his pocket.

She pulled the bracelet from her handbag and lay it on the tabletop.

Opening the back of his pocket watch's case, he extracted a magnifying glass. He raised his eyebrows at Laura, not bothering to gloat at his watch's usefulness.

She crossed her arms and leaned back, waiting for his next trick.

Putting on his glasses, he began examining the bracelet slowly. "You think you were the intended victim?" he asked. "Not Ellen."

She took a deep drag from her cigarette. "I need you to tell me I'm being ridiculous."

He didn't. "You had a martini too," he said, tense.

The waiter set that drink's twin before her. Laura stared at it, unsure if she wanted it now.

"You got this in Chinatown at the medicine shop. Tell me everything about that day." He carefully checked the backs of the links, turning their booth's lampshade to spotlight his work.

"Three weeks ago Monday, I was going to Chinatown to teach a class at my school for wayward girls. Elosha asked me to pick up her elixir while I was down there. She gave me the address and name; I'm certain I had the right shop. In fact, the little man knew her name."

"Only he gave you the bracelet too?" Bill laid down the bracelet and magnifying glass. He gulped from his whiskey sour and picked up his smoldering cigarette from the ashtray.

"Well, he sold it to me after I admired it. But it was rather strange, I admit." Laura finally sipped her drink, trying to remember all the details. "He was murdered a week after he gave this to me. The killer used cyanide."

"Could simply be a coincidence."

"Yes. Considering the jeweler just confirmed the bracelet isn't worth killing over, I'm back to feeling ridiculous."

Bill tapped the bracelet. "If you were to take the links apart and just give me each section, I'd say they were were machine parts."

"What?" Her curiosity overcame Laura's vanity. She pulled out her own glasses and peered at the bracelet links.

"The raised patterns would fit the parts into something else." His frustration showed at being close to a solution-only he didn't know the question.

She fiddled with the bracelet. "Do they fit together? Perhaps something as harmless as a Chinese puzzle?"

"Nope." He drained his drink.

Something occurred to him. "Were you wearing the bracelet when you were attacked on the docks?" he asked.

"Yes," she admitted, her eyes widening in worry. She furrowed her brow. "It all happened so fast. One of those thugs grabbed me from behind... Now I remember, they were grabbing my wrist with the bracelet-" She smiled triumphantly and he nodded back, encouraging her. "But then Jake barked and you were there."

Jake nuzzled her calf at the sound of his name and she felt under the table to rub his ear.

All the possibilities closed in on Laura. "Oh, darling-" she said.

He took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "It still doesn't necessarily mean everything is connected."

"But if it were, it could help your friend out of his pinch," Laura pointed out.

Bill closed up his watch and put away his glasses. "Yes, but no more silly parlor games like this morning. We work together from now on." He rose and held out his hand for her.

"Of course," she said, standing beside Bill. Jake crawled out from under the table and squeezed between their legs.

Bill patted his head. "And you too, Jake."

~~AV~~

Three days before Ellen's death, Deanna Biers had gone to meet her courier, Jonathan Cavil, in his apartment. But when she entered, she discovered a blonde woman lounging on his sofa in nothing but a pink negligee.

"She needs to leave," she'd told Cavil.

"She runs rackets with me regularly," Cavil sat beside Ellen and ran his withered hand up her bare thigh. "She knows the drill."

Ellen smirked at Deanna. "Don't worry, sugar. I can keep my trap shut."

Watching Cavil's hand creep up under the gown's short hem, Deanna said, "I doubt that sincerely."

Cavil gave Deanna a level glare. "She helped me acquire the device in Shanghai before the Japs could get their hands on it," he said. Ellen smirked at Deanna, preening at his praise. "And we're delivering our piece today. Do you have yours?"

Deanna became suddenly evasive. "Helmer has delivered his section. That doctor is ready to start his work."

Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Cavil leaned toward her. "It's not complete without the decoder keys. Did you get the bracelet?"

"No. That old fool Wu sold it to a woman called Laura Roslin," Deanna admitted, dropping her gaze to the floor.

Cavil barked a rude laugh. "The socialite?"

"The one. I tried to retrieve it, only to have her be rescued by some man who she promptly married a week later! They've been inseparable; I can't get to her."

Ellen snorted and lolled over on the cushions, her pert breasts peaking her gown. Cavil stared. "Kill them," he said.

"It's not that easy, dammit," ground out Deanna. "Her house is very secure and he's got two very big fists. We've tried and failed."

"Who is this man? Not one of her crowd, surely."

"He's some sailor named Bill Adams."

Ellen began laughing, a harsh, screeching sound that convinced Deanna she'd lost her mind. "Oh, sweetie and here you were writing me off! I can pull your bacon out of this fire!"

Cavil perked up with interest even as Deanna tossed up her hands in aggravation. "What do you mean, baby?" he asked.

Ellen was suddenly coy. She curled up in the corner of the sofa, arranging her hair again. "I want a lot more money, Johnny."

"Of course," he said. "What can you do?"

"It just so happens that my dear husband's-" Her voice caught unexpectedly. "My husband's best friend is Bill Adams. It'll be easy as pie. I'll get invited to that posh dump of hers, and get whatever you want."

Cavil squeezed her bare foot. "That's my girl."

"Bill and Saul are inseparable," Ellen said disagreeably. "I'm sure I'll be seeing her every damn day."

Deanna narrowed her eyes and regarded Ellen. "You may need to kill her for it. Are you ready to do that?"

"Are you ready to pay me?" Ellen had said to Cavil in a baby voice.

His grin had been wide and frightening. "Of course."


	6. Chapter 6

The Adams entered their home to chaos. Officer Figurski dragged a shackled and struggling Saul Tigh across the polished floor. Elosha was in hot pursuit, raining curses in French on the portly cop's head. Detective Tyrol had Tigh's other arm and was warding off Old Jaffee's dignified protests.

Emily's voice run out from the study door: "Sergeant, I will be calling our attorneys!"

"What the hell's going on here!?" roared Bill. Jake barked in agreement.

Motioning his dog to sit, Bill stood before the assembly, blocking their way.

"Well?" he thundered. Laura hovered behind him.

"Mr Adams, we're arresting Saul Tigh for his wife's murder." Tyrol pulled off his hat and wiped sweat from his brow.

"I didn't do it-" wailed Saul.

Bill stared at the handcuffs on his friend's wrists. "What the hell proof do you have?"

Tyrol fumbled in his pocket. "I have a warrant signed by Justice Collins. I suggest you summon that lawyer for Mr Tigh." He nodded at Figurski and the two men began leading Saul away again.

Laura squeezed her husband's arm. "I'll arrange for one, darling. You go with Saul. I'll meet you there with someone from our family firm."

"Thanks," Bill said, showing his uncertainty briefly. "I'll be right behind you," he called to Saul as the three men went through the front door.

"Would you like to take the Hudson?" Laura asked.

"Nah, I'll take the cable car," he told his wife, tugging his Fedora down determinedly. He followed his friend and the police out of the house.

As worried as she was, she had to smile at his automatic response to her offer.

"I tried to stop them, Miss Laura," panted Elosha.

"Of course, dear," said Laura, patting her maid's back. "I'm sure you did everything you could."

Laura walked into the study just as Emily was hanging up the telephone.

"That was Mr Fitch at Fitch and Harris," Emily said. "Their criminal lawyer will be here soon to accompany you downtown."

Laura furrowed her brow. "I don't even know who the criminal lawyer is at the firm."

Emily wrinkled her nose in distaste. "I knew there was someone with dirty hands in those hallowed halls because they represented the Mitchells; they have that son who keeps hitting people while driving drunk."

Laura set her jaw angrily, remembering how Charles Mitchell had avoided jail on two occasions.

"Thank you, Emily. You're a gem. I'll just go powder my nose before he arrives."

**AV**

Bill entered the Hall of Justice on Kearny Avenue, looking around for someone to speak to. Detective Tyrol stood talking to a group of men. Bill stormed up. "Listen, Sergeant, you've got the wrong man-" he started.

The detective looked quickly to the tall, bald man beside him.

The man stepped forward and extended his hand. "Mr Adams, I'm Richard Adair, the district attorney."

Even as he shook the man's hand, Bill narrowed his eyes. Awfully big gun for small game like Saul.

Adair leaned closer. "I'm an old friend of Miss Roslin's. Perhaps we can talk in my office?"

Grinding his teeth at the use of 'Miss' once again, nevertheless, Bill agreed. If this Adair could provide the grease that would help his friend wiggle out of this mess, so be it.

They rode an elevator to the top floor and Adair led him into a vast, richly-appointed office. He offered his guest a deep, low leather chair, then went around to sit behind his wide walnut desk. He peaked his fingertips and gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Bill felt a prickle of danger on the back of his neck. He balanced his hat on his knee, ready for a quick escape.

"I'm sure you want to do whatever's best for Laura," said Adair. "She has her charity ball coming up and really..." He opened a case on his desk, retrieved a cigarette and lit it. He did not offer one to Bill. "...This sort of publicity is unsavory."

"From what I noticed, the papers were talking about Laura long before my friend's wife got bumped off," said Bill mildly, confused by this conversation.

"But that was different," explained Adair. "The common folks enjoy hearing about the silly goings on of the well-to-do." His smile was reptilian. "Surely you've noticed your bride has a great deal of money."

Bill took a deep breath before replying. "Yeah, but I try not to hold it against her."

He tipped his head back to look Adair straight in the eye. "Say, I thought we were going to talk about Saul Tigh."

Adair continued as though Bill hadn't spoken. "I'm concerned that this situation will sully Laura's reputation even more than it has been already."

"Already?" Bill pulled out his cigarette case and lit one. "You mean by marrying me?"

"Perhaps you should return home to Mexico for a while, until things blow over," suggested Adair.

Bill squinted at Adair; he'd hit the end of his rope with this man. "Listen, you punk, my family lived in Alta California long before yours ever stepped off the boat back East. _You_ go home, okay?"

Adair's cheek twitched. He cleared his throat. "Mr Adams, I'm sure you want whatever's best for Laura."

Bill stood. "That's Mrs Adams to you. And I am doing what's best for her, and for my friend."

He stormed from the office, leaving Adair still seated behind his vast desk.

Back down in the Hall of Justice foyer, Bill found Laura with a gentleman in a pinstriped suit, clutching his briefcase and Homburg hat. Her expression showed its relief at the sight of her husband.

"No one knew where you had gone," she scolded gently.

"District Attorney Adair wanted to speak with me," he ground out.

Laura's face blanched.

Wicketts, the lawyer, gave a worried little tut-tut sound. "I hope he didn't wish to offer Mr Tigh a deal without my presence."

Bill didn't look at Laura. "No, he didn't want to talk about Mr Tigh. No one will tell me anything."

Swiveling his head like a watchful owl, Wicketts surveyed the foyer. "I'll find out what's happening, sir."

"Thank you," said Laura quickly. "Mr Adams and I will step across the street to get some fresh air in the square. We'll return shortly to see what you've discovered."

Wicketts twittered in reply and Bill took Laura's arm, marching her from the building.

They crossed the busy street carefully and entered the small park through the wrought iron fence. Bill led her to isolated bench and handed her down to the seat. He stood before her.

She squared her shoulders, ready for the questions.

"So what's with this Adair guy?"

Deciding honesty was the quickest route out of this scene, Laura shrugged. "I guess my marriage has come as a surprise to him."

"He expected to marry you?"

"He asked, a very long time ago. I thought he'd forgotten about it."

Bill hazarded a guess. "Seeing how he has a wife now?"

She shrugged again, then nodded.

"Not the sort to let that stop him, eh?"

"Bill-"

"Did you want to marry him?"

"No-"

"Were you two lovers?"

She lifted up her chin proudly. "Bill, you know I wasn't a virgin when you married me."

"I'm just thinkin', that's probably why he figured you would marry him."

"I agreed to marry you without being with you."

He harrumphed and finally sat beside her. "But there was that one time you took me out for a test ride," he rumbled, a small smile finally quirking on his lips.

"Only right." She nudged him with her elbow. "I wouldn't buy a car without taking it out for a spin first. Good thing you made it zero to sixty in under a minute."

His swarthy face tinged with a blush. She couldn't help but smile, even as she felt on the verge of tears.

"You put up such a fight at first, I was half-afraid _you_ were the virgin."

He pulled her close and nuzzled her hair. "If I had been, you would have taught me the ropes, but good."

She met his gaze, suddenly wishing desperately that they were alone. His bright blue eyes reflected the same thought.

He nestled her to his chest, not caring if the few park goers stared. His big hand rubbed her back. "You do understand I resisted only because I respect you so much. I wasn't being some ninny."

She laughed and this released the tears hovering close. She quickly wiped them away. "You? Never."

Squeezing the solid bicep under his suit's fine merino wool, she closed her eyes briefly. "Oh, Bill, please, let's not quarrel about that silly man. Truly, he means nothing to me."

"When did all this happen?" he asked, his voice returning to its tough tone.

"Bill-"

"I'm worried about him, not you."

"I was twenty-four."

"It's been that long? Boy, that guy can carry a torch."

"Will you still want me in twenty-five years?"

He grinned and tipped her chin back. "Even if I have to prop it up with a cane," he said right before kissing her.

~~AV~~

Deanna Biers had entered The Happiness Day Shop, finding the rotund Mr Wu, his long, skinny beard draped over his belly, behind his counter. He blinked at her through his thick glasses. "Yes, may I help?"

She sidled up to the counter. "Mr. Wu, it's me, Natasha."

He blinked again. "I help?"

"Natasha." She repeated slowly. "I would like a draught of Tiger's Milk Potion and some Black Pearl Powder."

His heavy-lidded eyes shifted to the door and back again, then down to the display counter. "Oh dears," he said faintly.

"What's wrong?" demanded Deanna.

He motioned to her. "Please. You join me for tea."

Through a silk curtain, his low table was set for afternoon tea. He added another delicate bowl for Deanna. She sat across the table.

"Well, Mr Wu? Our item?"

He poured fragrant tea in each bowl. "I fear...you people all look alike to me." He gave her a quavering smile. "I must have new glasses."

"You gave it to another woman!?" Deanna started to rise.

Wu held up his hand. "She had the right words!" He flapped his hand, urging Deanna to sit again. "But no worries. I am sure I can tell you who she is."

"Who was it; do you know?"

"She made the order for the priestess, Elosha. A Negro woman from up on the hill in the Heights."

"A maid?"

"A fine lady's maid," he gently corrected. "It is the lady always in the papers. Fast cars..." He squeezed his eyes closed. "She has the Clean Living Girls School at the bottom of Clay Street. Her money pays."

Deanna nodded. "I can find her with this information."

He bowed slightly in his chair, pleased he had helped her. "I am most sorry."

"I know you are," murmured Deanna. "If you please, could you fetch me one of your headache powders? I fear this experience has given me a splitting one." She gave him a weak smile and put the back of her hand to her forehead.

"Of course. I return soon." He left the room briefly, just enough time for her to drop the cyanide capsule she kept within her large ring's secret compartment into his bowl of tea.

~~AV~~

When Bill and Laura returned to the Hall of Justice, they found Wicketts waiting. "I have arranged a bail hearing," he informed them. "The price will be high, though. And rather draconian conditions for Mr Tigh's release." He flung a haughty glare over his shoulder at the desk sergeant who ignored him.

"I'll go to a bail bondsmen and make the arrangements," said Bill.

"Why don't you go with him, Mr Wicketts," said Laura, "You have the power to make a draw against my bank account."

Bill frowned, but nodded. Now was no time to be prideful.

"Of course, Mrs Adams," simpered the attorney.

When the two men had left, Laura strode to the elevator bay and punched the button for the express to the top floor.

She walked past Richard Adair's secretary, ignoring the woman's protests and flung open the door. Richard glanced up from his phone call. "I'll have to call you back later. Thank you." He hung the receiver on the cradle.

He rose and came around his desk. "Laura. Please, come take a seat."

Laura perched on the edge of the deep leather chair, too furious to get comfortable.

"Why are you harassing my husband, Richard?" she demanded to know.

He leaned on his large walnut desk, his face concerned. "I'm worried, my dear. This impulsive marriage... You've always been a woman to follow her desires, but was this wise?"

Laura made a production out of extracting a cigarette and lighting it, refusing his offer to help. She needed control of her anger.

His reference to her desires reminded her why she didn't marry him. He had eagerly welcomed relations with her when offered, but the next morning, he saw her as cheapened goods. Her enjoyment of the act horrified him. Seeing what marriage to him would be like, she'd turned down his repeated proposals, much to his shock. He'd thought that possession of her virginity, be it ever so happily cast aside, meant he held her soul.

Now, after years of discreet yet equally disappointing affairs, she'd finally found a man who reveled in her arousal and completion, who told her he'd sought this sort of experience his whole life as well.

So Richard Adair could go to hell. She blew out a long stream of smoke. "I think it was the wisest thing I've done in my life."

His forehead creased with disappointment. "I don't wish to be the bringer of bad news, Laura-"

 _I just bet_ , she thought to herself. "Yes, Richard?"

Richard slowly strode to the windows overlooking the jumble of North Beach, his hands behind his back. "But this man has a seedy past. His uncle, Samuel Adams, was a mobster's enforcer in Los Angeles. His father, Joseph Adams, was a lawyer for gangsters, helping the scourge of respectable society escape justice." He stared mournfully at the incoming fog bank, lacing among the buildings.

Laura puffed frantically on her cigarette. "That doesn't matter, none of it matters. Bill isn't his family; he's his own man."

With dawning realization, Richard came to her. "You didn't know!" He leaned close. "Laura, dear, you can't trust him."

"I trust him with my life!"

"Why has he told you none of this? Who his people are, his background?"

"Those aren't the sort of things we speak of."

Actually, they didn't do much talking about their pasts. It just hadn't seemed important.

They made love, a lot. She'd playfully helped him chose a wardrobe befitting his new social position, although he insisted on paying. When they did talk, it was about places they'd traveled to alone, and those they wished to visit together. They'd compared literary tastes in her home's vast library. It had pleased her so much to see Bill, like a small boy in a candy shop, finally have access to all the books he'd always wanted.

 _And they made love..._

No, they hadn't spoken of family. She didn't want to talk about families.

She rose from her chair. "Richard, leave my husband alone. Or you will regret it."

Shocked, he rocked back on his heels. "I only want to help an old friend-"

"Don't," she said firmly. "I don't need it. I have a husband now, and will stand by his side."


	7. Chapter 7

Laura welcomed Mr Wicketts into her father's study where Bill was waiting. Emily sat off to the side, her stenographer's pad at the ready.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked the lawyer.

"No, no," he gabbled, taking a seat at the old map table with Bill. He flipped open his briefcase, ready to get down to business.

"So what've you got for us?" asked Bill, sensing the attorney's mood.

"I've received the police reports for their evidence against Mr Tigh."

All their eyes shifted to the ceiling, as though they could see Saul laying on the guest bed, recovering from his time in jail with a fifth of the Roslin liquor cabinet's best Scotch. Laura closed the door with a definite click and joined the others at the table.

"What is it?" said Bill.

"First, they interviewed the crew on the _Passion Flower_."

Bill's brow furrowed. "Those were good guys. Saul rode them hard, but I can't imagine they'd turn on him-"

"It's not so much that they accused him of anything, but they did tell the investigators that one of his duties was to use cyanide to kill rats and insects on the ship."

Rubbing his temple, Bill nodded. "Dammit, that's right." Earnest, he looked at the lawyer. "But you've gotta understand. If Saul was going to bump off Ellen, he wouldn't sneak around with poison! He'd just shoot or strangle her!"

Emily choked back a laugh.

Wickett's mouth pursed. "I fear that will not be a good defensive strategy in the court, Mr Adams."

Laura tapped the tabletop, thinking. "Cyanide...I assume Mrs Tigh was killed with hydrogen cyanide."

Wicketts blinked at her. He quickly glanced at his papers. "Er, I don't believe we have the full medical examiner's report."

"While your ship probably used a sodium cyanide compound-" mused Laura.

"Uh, dear-" Bill cleared his throat. "Should I be concerned that you're apparently well-versed in the chemistry of cyanide?"

This time, Emily allowed her snort to escape.

Laura tossed her hair back. "Our mines use cyanide in the extraction of gold and silver. I often traveled with father to our mines in Alaska. He felt it was important that I understand the dangers."

Bill held up his hands. "Good to hear."

Thoughtful, Laura turned to Emily. "Please call Doctor Cottle-"

Wicketts looked through his papers again. "He was the doctor who examined..." He looked at the ceiling again quickly. "...Ellen Tigh."

"Excellent," said Laura. "I mean," she stumbled. "Excellent that an old family friend is involved." Her eyes narrowed speculatively. "He can help."

Watching her, Bill decided his wife could be a very dangerous woman, even without deadly weapons. No one could stop her once she had set her mind, which had been to his advantage when she decided to marry him.

He cleared his throat. "What else, Mr Wicketts?"

"There's a matter of the arguments, sir. The hotel detective was called to their room on a nearly daily basis..." Wicketts turned a page in his report.

"They always fought!" Bill protested.

Wicketts adjusted his pince-nez. "Mrs Tigh returned on the _Mandarin Dancer_ a week before she met Mr Tigh at the _Oriental Queen_ claiming to have arrived that day."

Bill and Laura exchanged worried looks.

"And Jonathan Cavil, the Number One Lychee Club's owner, was in her company."

Squeezing the bridge of his nose, Bill sighed. "Oh, Saul. This'll kill him."

"There's more," Wickett said with a doomsday voice.

"More?" Laura said faintly.

Emily, having returned from placing her call to Doctor Cottle, sat breathlessly with her pen hovering over her notepad.

"Mrs Tigh had several arrests and convictions for crimes."

"What sort of crimes?" Bill asked, astonished.

Wicketts shifted his gaze towards the ladies. They both leaned forward in anticipation. He cleared his throat fussily. "There were the _expected_ arrests, as well as blackmail."

"My goodness," breathed Laura.

"Saul never said anything about this," said Bill, shaking his head.

"How could a wife be in jail and her husband not know?" asked Emily, ever practical.

"What are you people up to?"

They all turned. Old Jaffee was holding the door open for Doctor Cottle.

"Doctor," said Laura, crossing the thick carpet to greet him. "How kind of you to come."

The older man glanced around the room with astonishment. "What the hell's going on? From your secretary, I assumed you needed medical assistance. I tore up here!"

She led him to a chair, tucking her arm in his as they crossed the room. "But I do, Doctor Cottle. I require your advice on a delicate matter."

He glanced over his shoulder at the others. They all looked away. "Don't you think we should-"

"No, no." She gently pressed him into a chair. Opening a box, she offered him a cigarette, which he gratefully accepted. Puffing like a steam engine, he looked up at her suspiciously. "Well, young lady? What is it?"

Laura smiled graciously. "I understand you were the one who..." She glanced at the ceiling. Confused, Cottle did as well. "...who examined Ellen Tigh's body?"

He jumped up from the chair, nearly knocking Laura off her high heels. "Mrs Adams, how dare you!"

Wicketts rose from his chair masterfully, holding back a charging Bill. "Sir, if I may. I am the defense attorney for Mr Tigh and I wish to depose you as a witness in the trial."

Cottle fell back into his chair. "Okay, whatta yah wanna know?"

"Was she killed with hydrogen cyanide or sodium cyanide?" Laura asked, pacing before the doctor.

He waggled his bushy eyebrows in surprise. "Hydrogen cyanide."

She stopped before him, glaring down at the doctor. "Saul Tigh only had access to sodium cyanide on his ship. And simply because he knew how to kill rats with it doesn't mean he could successfully kill his wife." She looked momentarily disconcerted at what she'd said, then put on a tense smile.

Cottle ground out his cigarette in the ashtray and looked around for the box. "I hate to burst your bubble, my dear, but cyanide is available in any number of locations in San Francisco." Fumbling in his baggy tweed jacket, he found his cigarette pack and lit another one.

Laura flopped into a chair and crossed her arms in frustration.

"I still say Saul wouldn't slip a mickey in Ellen's glass while her back was turned. He'd have belted her," said Bill, focusing on his cigarette's glowing tip.

"Mr Wicketts told you to stay away from such comments," Laura said briskly. "The important part is clearing poor Saul Tigh of this horrendous accusation. Anyone could see he worshipped his wife."

Cottle pushed up from his chair. "Seeing how I'm a witness for the prosecution, I better shove off."

Laura put out her hand for him to shake. "Thank you so much for coming, Doctor. You've been very helpful."

He bowed over the back of her hand. "At your service, Mrs Adams."

Her gaze held his. "And we may be requiring your services again."

He murmured his reluctant acceptance and slipped out.

~~AV~~

Bill stuck his head into Laura's dressing room. "Dear, almost ready for dinner-" He stopped at the sight of her in just her undergarments, standing before a rack of day dresses, tapping her chin in indecision.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Come help me choose, darling."

Bill came to her easily. Standing behind her, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "I like what you're wearing now," he muttered, his voice muffled in her hair.

Breathless, she reached behind and buried her fingers in his hair. "I was thinking of something somber, befitting the occasion. But we don't want your friend to be saddened. Perhaps something cheerful?"

"I love you for caring," he said, smoothing his hands down her ivory silk drawers, molding her hips with his wide palms. "I just plain love you so much."

"I...I...I like the blue dress," Laura stuttered out as she tugged the dress from the hanger.

Bill stepped back. "I better go see about Saul."

Laura watched his broad back walking out of her dressing room. Clutching her selection in her twisting hands, she opened her mouth again, but nothing came out.

~~AV~~

Bill knocked on Saul's door. "Hey, just about time for dinner. How about a drink first?"

Only silence came through the door. Bill rattled the knob and opened the door. The room was disheveled and stank of stale cigarettes, sweat and booze. It was missing Saul and his suitcase.

Flying down the stairs, Bill burst through the door held open by Old Jaffee. He caught his friend at the bottom of the hill. He yanked Saul around. "Where the hell are you going?" he demanded.

"I gotta get outta here, buddy," said Saul. "Can't lay in that big bed every day and reach for her...and she's not there."

Bill gently tugged Saul back in the direction of the house. "Yeah, I understand."

"Wanna get a ship." Saul stopped, refusing to go another step. "Where the bunks are narrow."

"Saul, you can't leave town." Bill glanced up and down the street. "There's probably cops here now, waiting for you to try. They'll toss you back in jail."

"Maybe I should go back. The bed was narrow there too."

"Saul, we'll get you another bed." Bill began leading him back to the house again. "There's gotta be a single bed somewhere in this shack."

They both looked up at the massive mansion rising above them on the hill, wreathed by the deep green yew shrubs and with a nimbus of incoming fog.

"You lucked out, Bill."

There was no rancor in his friend's voice, but Bill still felt guilty.

Saul gave a rough chuckle. "And the gams on that broad!"

Putting an arm around Saul's back to gently lead him forward, Bill joined him in laughing.

~~AV~~

That night Laura's mind was still racing with the possible explanations regarding Ellen's death. This was certainly more compelling than one of her detective stories! She had been hoping to discuss various scenarios involved with the case with her husband. Disappointingly, when she entered her bedroom, Bill had already drifted off on one side the large bed. A book rested on his chest and his glasses hung precariously on the end of his nose.

Her mouth quirked in a smile when she saw he was wearing the ratty old brown robe that he'd brought into their marriage. Her attempts to persuade him to give it to the staff to cut up into cleaning cloths had, as yet, been unsuccessful.

It appeared he would be staying the night. Although she'd given him his own bedroom, like so many of the perks of a large home, it had gone unused. "Married couples share a bed, no matter if they've been fighting or not. That's how you stay married," he'd grumbled as he looked around the darkly masculine bedroom. "In the same bed."

Fearing for her delicately decorated bedroom, so her style, from the shell-pink satin bedcover to the silver Italian chandelier, she murmured something about the room being his very own space.

He'd just furrowed his brow. "I've been living in a bunk and a locker for twenty-five years, Laura." He peered into the large dressing room suspiciously. "Could fit my whole world in one of these shelves."

So she was stuck with him. Smiling again, she carefully removed the glasses and book, placing them on the bedside table before going to her side of the bed. She pulled back the covers, snuggled into his warmth and let his steady breathing lull her to sleep also.

Sometime during the night, Laura woke suddenly, realizing she was alone in their large bed. She squinted at the clock on the bedside table. Some time after two.

"Bill?" she called out drowsily.

Someone-something, was moving on his side of bed. Fear stabbed in her heart-

"Go back to sleep."

"Wha're you doin'?" She fumbled for the lamp, turning it on.

Bill was dressed, complete with trenchcoat and hat. He was reaching for his glasses on the bedside table. He froze like a sneak thief caught in the act.

"Why are you dressed?" she asked, her voice still woozy from sleep.

"Going out." He sat on the bed and patted her leg reassuringly. "Just roll over, honey, go back to sleep."

"Out?" She struggled to sit up. "Roll over and go back to sleep?" Her hand slapped at his chest. "You'll tell me right now what you're planning to do, Mr Adams."

"Thought I'd swing by a club; grab a drink," he said in an infuriatingly calm voice.

"A club?"

"Yep."

Laura frowned. There were many seedy clubs that would still be open at this time of the night. However, there was one that was closed, that had been closed for the past couple of days; on account of it being classified as a crime scene.

"You're not going by yourself."

"No, no, I'm not."

Laura smiled smugly as she flipped the covers back. She hadn't really expected Bill to give in so easily. His next words shattered her illusions.

"I'm taking Jake. He'll protect me."

Jake sitting with a lead hanging off his neck in the doorway, thumped his tail enthusiastically. Seeing Laura's aggravation, the dog laid his head between his front paws and closed his eyes.

"Jake wouldn't hurt a flea," she ranted, hopping out of the bed.

"Maybe not, but if you remember, he's less altruistic when it comes to criminals."

She confronted him at the foot of the bed, hands on her hips. "What do you plan to do?"

Then she noticed the lump in his coat pocket. "What's this?" She wiggled her hand down into the pocket and pulled out a flashlight. "Bill!" she gasped. "You're not going to-"

"I'm going to break into the joint, my dear," he confirmed. He pulled her close, nuzzling her neck.

Not dissuaded, and feeling another hard object in his other pocket, she burrowed her hand into that one-and pulled out a gun.

"Bill! This is madness!" she squealed, juggling the weapon.

Catching it, he quickly slipped it back into his pocket as though that would make her forget its existence.

She was having none of it. "I won't let you go," she demanded.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and tried to kiss her. "You've only just made the leap to become a married woman, Mrs Adams. I'm not planning on changing your status to widow just yet."

She wasn't so easily reassured. She crossed her arms, giving him an elbow to the gut. "It will only take me five minutes to change; I'll come with you."

"No." The ferocity of Bill's tone made her blink. He had never given her a command before. She looked up at him, faltering in her conviction slightly.

"I know you want to help, darling," Bill's voice and expression softened. "But I know how to handle myself. I was in the Great War, remember?"

"Sailors weren't shooting guns from the front line trenches."

Bill gave her a mysterious smile and pulled her into his arms. "Guns are like women: treat 'em right and they'll treat you right."

"And if they don't like how they're being treated?" she asked. She could talk him out of this, just like a business deal. She'd learned men didn't expect women to be tough negotiators and used that to her advantage often.

"They'll misfire for sure. Kick back and knock you flat off your feet, maybe," he said with a grin. He extracted the gun from his pocket and placed it in her hands. "How's it feel?"

The heavy metal flopped awkwardly around in her unfamiliar grip. Laura pushed it back toward him, fumbling until she finally tossed the gun, as if it was scorching her fingers, back at him.

Bill deftly caught the weapon. "See, you're not comfortable with this type of thing." He calmly slipped it back in his pocket. "We all have our areas of expertise. Let me be the muscle tonight and you can be the brains tomorrow." Bill placed his forehead to her forehead. "Hopefully, I won't come across any trouble. I'll be in and out of the club before Cavil or the cops are any the wiser."

Laura hummed, finally relenting. "I need you to be careful, Mr Adams."

After one more squeeze around her waist and a quick kiss on the lips, Bill walked to the bedroom's entrance and picked up Jake's lead. Rubbing her bare arms, Laura watched him, fear coursing through her blood now that he wasn't there to warm her skin.

"Don't worry. Jake will back me up." The dog opened his eyes at the sound of his name, but he didn't bother to stand until Bill gave a gentle yank on his lead.

Bill turned to leave. Laura strode to him, grabbed a generous handful of his thick hair and dragged his mouth down to hers. She kissed him with every bit of passion she could muster, letting her tongue press into his mouth, nearly frantic in her need. Only when his strong arms came around her did she relax.

"Before you do something stupid, remember that," Laura told him when they finally came up for air. "I took a long time to find you, Mr Adams, I'm not keen on giving you up just yet."

Bill pushed Laura's hair back and looked down at her intently. "I'm doing this because of _you_. Someone may be out to harm you, and they're going to pay the price," he said, and then he was gone.

This time Laura didn't try to stop him.

Laura slowly paced her room, knowing she would never fall back to sleep while Bill was breaking into the Number One Lychee Club.

She muttered his words with disgust: "Roll over and go back to sleep."

Laura recalled another part of his conversation. "We all have our areas of expertise," she repeated, her mind whirling with possibilities.

She looked down at her silk nightgown. After tossing it off, she determinedly headed toward the dressing room to find something better suited for her foray.


	8. Chapter 8

"Here'll do," Bill told the automobile's driver. He would walk the final four blocks to the club on foot.

"Do you want me to wait, sir?"

"No. Take the car back. I'll find my own way home."

He opened the door of what was his favorite vehicle of Laura's. He called it the green one that didn't have a convertible top. Young Jaffee, who he'd offered a five spot to drive, told him it was a Nash La something or other. All he knew was Laura rarely used this automobile; it was servants' preferred transportation. She liked to feel the wind in her hair as she drove too fast.

"Thanks." Bill leaned into the driver's side window. "Here you go." He held out the bill.

"No sir," young Jaffee said firmly, keeping both gloved hands on the wheel.

"I pulled you out of your bed."

The boy grinned. "It was something different than polishing the silver."

"Not cut out to be a butler?"

Jaffee shrugged.

"Well, let's talk to Mrs Adams about you becoming my personal driver," said Bill.

The boy's grin widened. "Isn't that Mrs Adams' job?"

Bill narrowed his eyes. "I'll get a cab home; you head out."

Stifling a laugh, Jaffee pulled away from the curb.

Bill hunched his shoulders and sauntered through the shadowed streets, his hat low and his coat collar high. He was just another Joe, kicked out by the old lady, headed to the comforts of Chinatown's darker dens, his faithful dog along for the ride.

Keeping out of the yellow pool of light outside the club, he squeezed around the wooden police barricades to reach the front door. Checking the lock with his flashlight, Bill smiled. 'Easy as pie' his Uncle Sam would have said.

Holding the flashlight between his teeth, Bill ran the flat blade of his jacknife between the strike plate and door jamb, then with one small twist to the left at the same time as shaking the handle gently, made the door swing open obediently.

"It was easy as pie, Jake," he whispered as he carefully scanned the street one last time before closing the door behind them. Bill leaned down and tucked Jake's lead into his collar. The dog immediately set off across the room, his head bowed to the floor following some unknown scent.

Bill flashed the light around the club, deciding to start with the scene of the crime. The chalk outline on the floor and tabletop showed him the exact spot. He crouched down and studied it dispassionately for several minutes, before turning his attention to the round table they'd shared that night.

The table that was meant to be the center of attention; situated so they could see and be seen. Laura's name had ensured they'd received first class service and both the bar and the dance floor were in close proximity of their seats. The murderer could watch them before making his move. This also meant plenty of witnesses. The person who poisoned the drink must have been someone who wouldn't look out of place.

"Like Mr Cavil," Bill murmured, looking up at that man's office door. He climbed the stairs and tried the door handle. It was unlocked. Bill slipped into the office.

~~AV~~

King George smiled indulgently at his Queen. "What a man this Doctor Baltar is," he whispered, just loud enough for the subject to hear and blush bashfully.

"Only doing what needed to be done, Your Highness," Baltar said in his best stiff-upper lip voice.

Queen Elizabeth gave him her special little smile and nodded her head in approval.

"Doctor Baltar, please come forward," boomed a voice behind him.

Baltar took one big step so he was standing right before the King. He tipped his head and the monarch slipped the silk band around his neck. A heavy weight lay against his chest.

Baltar had to lift the medal and examine it; the Victoria Cross for exemplary bravery and cunning in service to his crown and country-

The pounding on his front door broke him from his revelry.

Rushing to the door, he yanked it open. "What?" he bellowed at the woman standing outside.

Deanna turned, looking down her nose and through her dark veil at the doctor. "Keep your voice down," she hissed. "Do you want to draw attention to us?"

He yanked her into his apartment and slammed the door. After pushing his disheveled hair back, he put his hands on his hips. "Do you have the missing pieces of the device yet?"

She circled the room, picking up the widely strewn debris of his work and putting them down again, her features marred by discontent. "Doctor, you were selected because of your brilliance, a genius second only to Herr Einstein."

Baltar preened as she stopped beside him.

"So, such a genius should be able to complete our device without the missing pieces," she murmured in his ear.

His head snapped around to face her. "You're insane! The device was created a thousand years ago by Chinese alchemists. How can I possibly replicate their work with no instructions?"

"A modern day scientist cannot out-think some ancient Chinese magician?"

"Miss Biers, you must understand, my nerves are jangled as it is-"

She pressed against him. He quickly licked his lips and peeked down her cleavage. "Guy," she breathed, "I know you can do it-"

"I want to, truly," he whined.

"Your reward will be immeasurable." Her breasts were flat against his chest; her breath hot on his cheek. "Do you understand?"

"I believe so," he said quickly.

"Excellent."

"But I still need the missing pieces."

She went slack with frustration; he took the opportunity. Pulling her close, his mouth swooped up under her veil and fastened to her lips.

She fought back, but tongue with tongue, pushing him to the wall and overwhelming his senses.

When he finally got free, he gasped, "I must have the last pieces of the device."

She hit him, hard, knocking him to the floor.

Stunned, he wasn't able to scramble up until the door was already slammed shut.

Deanna got into a waiting black car on the street.

Cavil signaled the driver to go on. "Well?" he asked her.

She pulled out her compact from her handbag and began repairing her lip rouge. "He can't do it."

"I see you offered a higher price."

She shot him a withering look.

"Perhaps someone else-"

"There's no one else this intelligent and stupid at the same time."

Cavil's thin lips formed a moue.

Deanna made the same gesture in her mirror, checking her lipstick's coverage. "He doesn't even realize he's working with German government operatives."

They laughed merrily as the car crested the tall hill and swooped down into the dark streets of Chinatown.

~~AV~~

The club's office was illuminated by the flickering neon letter C shining through the window, lighting the room with its sickly green glow. Bill checked behind a shabby faded landscape hanging on the wall. Sure enough, a safe. He rued that Uncle Sam had never taught him the fine art of safe cracking.

Instead he sat at the desk, and began opening the desk's drawers. When he opened the last one, first he smelled a familiar cloying odor. Then he saw a flash of bright pink silk. Carefully, he lifted the garment out.

"God, Ellen," he muttered. He'd seen Saul pick out underwear just like this in their port calls. And they always had to be monogrammed with an 'ET,' just as this pair was. Bill dropped it back into the drawer and pushed it shut with his toe.

Having found nothing besides that unpleasant revelation, he asked,. "What about under the desk, Jake?" His dog had finished following his nose around the room and once again sat faithfully by his side.

Bill pushed the chair out, bent his head and examined the bottom of the desk. His fingers swept across the rough grain on the underside, feeling for any hidden niches that Cavil might use to stash his secrets. Nothing. Bill crawled completely under the desk, reaching for the modesty panel on the far end.

The telephone rang shrilly. Jake let out a short sharp yap. Bill jumped, slamming his head into the desk

Holding his injured head, Bill gave an undignified grunt and scrambled from under the desk, wishing for once he had a little of his wife's natural grace.

"Should we answer it?" Bill asked his dog. He straightened his hat and glasses. Jake's mouth quivered, ready to attack the noisy instrument again.

Bill carefully lifted the receiver off its cradle.

" _Hello! Hello! Who is this?"_

Bill thought quickly. Leaning toward the transmitter atop the upright phone, he raised his voice's register, trying to sound closer to the club manager's light tone. "How about you tell me who this is first?"

" _It's the doctor! Deanna gave me this number if I needed to leave her a message._ "

"Deanna will be back soon," Bill fabricated. "I'm sure I can help."

" _I wish one of you people would help me! I can't do everything myself! Deanna's taking her incompetency out on me. I don't see how I can be blamed for the delay. Deanna's promised me the final component to the machine for weeks now!"_

Final component to the machine? Laura's bracelet?

"I have it."

" _You have it! Why didn't you just say so? I'll come and get it."_

"Excellent idea, doctor. You know where I am?"

" _No, no I don't actually. Deanna chooses to tell me hardly anything. Which, I might add, is rather frustrating for a man of my position. I am accustomed to being shown a little more respect than that piece of skirt has given me!"_

"I'm at the nightclub."

" _Nightclub? Oh, I love nightclubs! Are there a lot of women there?"_

Bill frowned, confused. "Women?"

" _In case I need a cover, of course. One should blend in at these places."_

"The club's closed at the moment, doctor."

" _Oh, how unfortunate."_

"I'm sure we can come to some arrangement for another time."

" _Yes, yes, true. I'll have lots of time for such follies later. If you have the key, it certainly won't take me long to put things together."_

Bill exhaled his held breath with relief. "Thank you, doctor. I'm at the Number One Lychee Club."

" _Oh! The place on the edge of Chinatown? I'm close! Of course, you must already know that. It was probably deliberate move on your part. I'll see you in fifteen minutes, Mr...What did you say your name was again?"_

"I didn't. We can introduce ourselves properly when you get here, doctor."

Bill checked his watch as he hung up the phone. Opening the desk's second drawer, he pulled out a set of three keys he'd spotted earlier.

"Come on, Jake. Let's go and see what these open." He hurried down the stairs, mindful that this doctor would be arriving soon. Daring to turn on his flashlight, he swept the beam around the club floor. Spotting a narrow door behind the bar, Bill decided to try it. The lock easily clicked open with the second of the keys.

The flashlight beam revealed a gloomy, empty cellar below, yet the air was not as stale as he would have expected.

Bill placed his foot tentatively on the top stair tread, and descended the rickety stairwell. He was almost halfway down when Jake shoved past, making him sway and need to reach out for the frail-looking railing.

The dog skipped agilely to the bottom of the staircase, letting out a growl.

"Jake?" Bill paused, squinting and widening the arc of light as much as he could. A window high on the foundation hung open, the glass broken.

Jake growled again. He was at the back of the room, circling two large wooden packing crates. Bill examined the printing on the side of the first one. _Mandarin Dancer_ ; the ship that Jonathan Cavil and Ellen had arrived on. He tugged the heavy wooden lid off and peered inside. Nothing but straw packing was left, and a large empty space where an object had sat.

Noticing a dark stain on a few strands of the straw, Bill pulled one out and sniffed it. Machine oil. The device the doctor had mentioned?

Jake was lying on his belly, staring intently at the other box. Bill checked the name on it. _Farmer's Daughter_ out of Shanghai as well.

He looked at his watch. The doctor would be here soon and Bill still needed to return the keys. Something told him that he should be prepared for a quick getaway. Bill grabbed Jake's lead, coaxing him back up the steps. At the doorway, he paused. The hair stood on the back of his neck. He felt as though he was being watched, yet he could see no one in the dim club. Jake whined.

"Hush boy," Bill whispered hoarsely. One hand on the gun in his pocket, he stole toward the staircase.

After the basement door shut, the lid of the second crate rose and a pair of dark eyes peered out.

Bill had just put the keys away when bright light cut through the louvers overlooking the dance floor. Someone had turned on the club's lights. He crept over and peered out through the lower louvers.

Jonathan Cavil was at the maitre d's stand, checking over the ledger and muttering to himself. His opulent garments of the night of the murder were gone; he was dressed in a dark overcoat with a black Fedora.

"Damn," muttered Bill. There was no way out. Perhaps Cavil would not come to his office-the natty man was coming across the dance floor toward the stairs.

Bill hurried to the window and flung it open. He scrambled out onto the fire escape, urging Jake to jump out with him. Crouching below the window sill, a glint of a metal object laying on the platform caught his eye. He picked it up and when he recognized it, sucked in his breath. He was just slipping it in his pocket when a bullet whizzed by his head.


	9. Chapter 9

A bullet whined past Bill's hat and nicked the fire escape's rail. Yanking out his gun, he ducked as low as he could. He returned fire. Jake whimpered beside him.

Cavil burst through his office door. Bill fired into the room, aiming at the wall. The small man dove behind his desk.

Glancing over the rail, drawing more fire, Bill made a quick plan. "Sorry, son," he muttered. He lifted the dog and tossed him over. With a thump and a yelp, Jake landed in a pile of rotted cabbage.

Gunfire continued from the black car at the end of the alley. Firing until he emptied his gun, Bill then slid down the fire escape's ladder, not bothering with the rungs. He hit the uneven cobblestones, letting out an 'oomph!' as he rolled through the puddles.

The black car maneuvered to aim down the narrow, debris-filled alley. "Come on, Jake!" Bill called and lit out down the alley in the opposite direction. Jake streaked past a puffing Bill.

"Damn dog," panted his owner.

Suddenly, another car turned in at the end of the alley, blocking their escape.

"Son of a bitch!" Bill lifted his now empty weapon. He whirled, but the high beams of the gunman's black car made a white target on his chest. The car rammed through the boxes of rotted vegetables, coming at him.

Jake jumped into the convertible and scrambled to the back seat. Bill ran toward the car. "You damn dog!" he yelled again.

"Get in, Bill!" called out Laura from behind the wheel.

Too out of breath to question or argue, Bill yanked the door open and flopped into the seat. Laura reversed at high speed before he could even close it, spinning blindly out of the alley and turning up the street.

She took the next left at high speed. The door swung out of Bill's grasp and his foot dragged dangerously close to the street.

"Bill, get into the car!" scolded Laura as she righted the wheel.

"I'm trying!" he gasped, clawing at the dashboard for purchase.

Laura glanced over her shoulder, her bright green scarf whipping in the wind. "They're following us!"

"Damn!" Bill finally slammed the door and looked behind them. "They've got a gun."

"I know. I was cruising the block when I heard the shots," Laura said grimly. She took another sharp corner, narrowly avoiding a late night bus, and gunned the motor as they began to climb the steep hill as fast as the super-charged Aston Martin would go. She crested the hill and aimed down the other side in a spray of sparks.

"Laura, be careful!"

"Are they still behind us?"

Bill dared to turn and look, hanging onto the seat back with white knuckles. Slower, but persistent, the black car loomed behind them. "Dammit, yes!"

When he looked forward again, he roared in horror: "Laura-truck!"

A dilapidated milk wagon was easing backward out of another narrow alley, nearly blocking the street. Laura gunned her motor and steered the right set of wheels up on the sidewalk. The car squeaked past the truck's hood, even as Bill watched the storefronts whip past mere inches from his door. He hung onto his hat tightly.

"Hah, lost 'em!" crowed Laura, checking her rear view mirror.

Bill slumped in his seat. "Woman..." he gasped.

Easing off the accelerator, she straightened her scarf in the mirror. "Oh, darling, this was nothing-"

"I thought I told you to stay at home," he thundered.

She only gave him an incredulous look.

He fumbled for his cigarette case and lit one with shaking fingers.

~~AV~~

Cavil was fetching a hand gun from behind the bar when he heard the club's front door open and close. He hurried to the foyer.

"Deanna, did you catch whoever-" He broke off, and pointed the gun at the intruder's chest. "You're not Deanna," he hissed dangerously.

Next to the coat check, the man jumped back with a high squeal, waving his hands in the air. "No! No! Of course not. It's me. Doctor Baltar."

Cavil frowned. "Doctor Baltar?" he repeated. Why had this buffoon Deanna was putting such trust in suddenly turned up at the club tonight?

"Yes, yes!" The doctor's gaze darted around. "You were expecting Deanna?"

"That's right. I was expecting Miss Biers; not you." Cavil narrowed his eyes, his brows coming together over his long rat nose. "What _are_ you doing here, doctor?"

"You told me to meet you here!"

Cavil jerked the barrel of the gun menacingly in Baltar's direction, causing the doctor to back away even further, finally ending up in amongst the coat rack.

"When did I ask you to meet me here?"

Baltar grappled with several wooden hangers. Seeing this fool posed no danger, Cavil slipped his gun inside his coat pocket.

"On the telephone."

"I called you?"

"No. I called you. You told me you had the final component and I was to come down here and get it off you."

Cavil ignored Baltar's moans of agony as he yanked a long piece of his hair caught in one of the hangers.

"When was this?"

"About fifteen minutes ago! Look!" Baltar threw the hangers to the floor and dared to triumphantly take a step forward. "Obviously I spoke to someone else. Your partner?"

Cavil smiled thinly. "I don't have a partner, Doctor Baltar. It seems you were speaking with the enemy."

"What?" Baltar's voice shook. "The...Nazis?"

The smaller man squinted at him. "Yes, we must keep the device from Hitler's forces."

Baltar quickly licked his lips, his eyes shining with excitement. "Are you...a G-man?" He puffed out his chest. "Since Deanna and I are operatives for the British government, you must be our ally in the US government."

"Yes, yes," said Cavil smoothly. "But it's all very hush-hush. Even more than your work."

Baltar nodded quickly.

"Most Americans don't support helping the British against Hitler. So we must be very careful."

"Of course, of course," blathered Baltar.

Cavil put his hand on the gun in his pocket. Baltar's eyes darted, following that motion. "So I'll need to know _exactly_ what you told the individual on the telephone."

Cavil stepped toward the doctor who immediately shrunk back; several more hangers fell down onto his head.

~~AV~~

Turning the car at a much more leisurely pace, Laura cruised along the waterfront toward the new bridge across the Golden Gate. "Who was that, anyway?" she asked.

"I gotta think someone working with that Cavil fellow."

"We must contact the police immediately!" said Laura.

"Let's wait on that," he said. "I need a drink first."

"Should we go home?"

"They might be waiting there. Let's give it an hour or so."

She eased the car down the lonely road to Fort Point and stopped beside the old brick fortress. High above, the orange struts of the bridge hummed in the strong wind off the water.

Lolling her head back on the seat, she looked up at the sleek, modern structure. "I adore this new bridge, don't you?"

He stared over at her.

She turned her head, her eyes glinting in the darkness. He spotted tears. "Don't that again, you hear me?" she said.

He put his arm across the seat back, pulling her close. "Sorry, sweetheart. But I knew it would be dangerous and it was. Couldn't put you in that situation."

"You wouldn't be much use to me dead, Bill Adams," she said, slapping his chest lightly.

He made a happy grumble at the back of his throat and pushed his hat back. Tipping her chin up, he stroked her cheek. "Where did we leave off before I left tonight?"

She gasped in outrage.

He smirked and undid the top button of her Burberry coat.

Glancing over her shoulder up the dark, empty road, Laura quickly licked her lips. As though working of their own volition, her nimble fingers undid the buttons on his trench coat. "Bill, we shouldn't..."

"Of course not," he said soothingly. "Just wanted to see if my fingers will work now that I've finally let go of the door handle." He slipped his hands insider her coat, gently tugging her blouse free from her skirt to place his icy fingers on her warm skin.

Hitching her breath with both the chill and the heat of desire, Laura tried to stay focused on her scolding. "You'll bring me next time?"

He slid her scarf off, and the wind caught her hair, lifting it to swirl around her concerned face. "I'm keeping you right by my side from now on," he assured her.

"Good boy," she murmured approvingly, then "Jake!" Thinking she was speaking to him, Jake had licked her fingers.

"Jake, don't watch." Laura glared at the dog in the backseat.

When Jake lowered himself to the floorboards and buried his head in his front paws, Laura snuggled into Bill's embrace, beginning her own exploration under his trenchcoat.

"As long as I can keep you from behind the wheel, we'll be safe," Bill said smugly. He had to kiss away the irritated twist of her lips.

~~AV~~

Sharon didn't bother turning on a light when she walked into her small efficiency, heading straight for the sink to clean the wound on her hand instead.

Startled, she let out a small scream as the small room was suddenly filled with light. She swung around to find her lover lounging on the bed, his back against the wall, his hand hovering near the switch of the bedside table lamp.

"Chief!" She automatically pushed her bleeding hand into her pocket.

"Sharon." His greeting was enigmatic _._

Sharon licked her lips. "How long have you been here?" she asked, hoping to avoid an explanation for as long as possible.

"Long enough." Giles stood and approached Sharon. He reached out and encircled her wrist, jerking it from her slacks' pocket.

Sharon flinched, unable to stop the whimper of distress at his touch.

"What's this?"

"It's nothing," she insisted, attempting to pull away from his grip.

Giles frowned and peeled back the handkerchief she had used as a makeshift bandage, causing the blood to flow freely from the gash between her thumb and index finger.

"Nothing! This is a little more than nothing."

Marching her to the sink, Chief shoved her hand under the faucet as he ransacked the cupboard beneath the basin for a suitable dressing.

"I'm going to wrap this up," Giles said through gritted teeth, "then we're going to sit down and you're going to tell me where you've been all night."

"I-" Sharon started, only to have Chief interrupt her angrily.

"Enough lies. You'll tell me everything."

~~AV~~

"What you need is a hot chocolate," Bill muttered in Laura's ear as he guided her into the late-night North Beach bar.

"Hot chocolate?" Laura slid into the red leather bench seat. Bill joined her, laying his arm across her shoulders. He held up two fingers to the bartender, who nodded and filled two small glass cups, then steamed the contents from a huge copper samovar.

He grinned. "Warm you up."

She straightened his tie and tried to smooth his crumpled coat. "I think we're heated up, darling."

"I'm just getting started," he promised. "Wait until we get home and I can stoke those fires again."

The waiter set down the drinks and melted away.

She sipped her drink and widened her eyes. "That's got a kick to it."

Bill carefully slurped the hot brandy, milk and chocolate concoction. "So do I, my lady."

She gave him a slap on the arm. "You've had your fun; we need to get serious. So what did you find out?"

"So ruthless," he said, but she could see he was bursting with his news. "Ellen had been in Cavil's office."

"How do you know?"

"I found something of hers."

"What?"

Bill made a production of pulling out his cigarette case. He offered one to Laura, but she shook him off. "What was it?" she prompted again.

He lowered his voice. "Undergarments."

She gaped. "Like a slip?"

Shaking his head, he exhaled a plume of blue smoke.

"What?!"

He leaned closer and whispered: "Panties."

"What!?"

Putting his cigarette in the ashtray, he waved his hand to shush her.

She narrowed her eyes. "How did you know they were Ellen Tigh's?"

He started to speak, then stopped and stared at her. "What are you thinking?"

Picking up his cigarette and puffing it nervously, she shrugged. "I can't say."

"Laura!" He pulled his arm off the back of her seat. "I would never-"

"The undergarments?"

"She has very specific requirements-"

Laura grubbed the butt in the ashtray. "I don't think I want to know more-"

"They always must be monogrammed. I can't even tell you how many ports I've been goin' around with Saul, trying to find a shop to do that!"

"Oh." Laura sipped her drink.

"I can't believe you were thinking-"

"You know what they say about sailors," Laura said in her defense.

"No, I don't know what they say about sailors," Bill said huffily.

Laura moved on. "So you're sure she was there before our night out?"

"Yes," he said grimly. "But then things got really interesting."

All concerns about Ellen gone, Laura leaned closer.

"A call came through. From a man who called himself a doctor. He was looking for a woman named Deanna. She was to supply him with the final piece to a machine."

"A machine? Did he say what it was for?"

"No; I didn't dare prod him more." The waiter set another drink before Bill and he remained silent until the young man left.

"But I can imagine. Elements wishing to attack our fair city. Perhaps a bomb. There's the World's Fair, the new bridges, Coit's Tower..."

Laura grabbed his wrist, keeping Bill from raising his glass. "Darling, we must go to the authorities immediately."

"Yeah, I guess so," said Bill slowly. He slipped his hand into his pocket, touching the bracelet lying at the bottom.

Laura didn't notice. She smiled brightly. "Oh, Bill, do you know what this means?"

He pulled his hand out of his pocket and laced his fingers with hers. "What, dear?"

"We'll tell the police about my bracelet, how I was mugged for it, and now this poisoning. It all points to anyone but Saul Tigh being the killer."

He grinned back at her. "That's my girl."

~~AV~~

A knocking at his bedroom door woke Richard Adair. He fumbled around until he found his robe that was folded at the end of his bed, then moved to the door.

His butler, fully dressed and appearing completely unruffled by the inconvenience of being roused at such an early hour, stood the other side of the threshold.

"Sir, Sergeant Tyrol is on the telephone wishing to speak to you."

"What? What time is it, Henry?"

"Just after five in the morning, sir."

His wife's gray head bobbed up from her pillow. "What is it, Richard?"

Richard went to her bed across the room. He bent down as if to kiss her, but patted her arm instead. "It's just business, dear. Go back to sleep," Richard advised.

He hurried out of the bedroom and down the stairs to deal with the detective.

Henry trailed him discreetly to the study. "Would you like me to prepare a pot of coffee, sir?"

"No, I'll call you if I change my mind." He dismissed his servant with a wave of his hand, hunching his tall frame over to speak into the telephone. "Yes? Sergeant? I assume this will be momentous information that you are about to share with me at this time of the morning," he snapped.

"I'm sorry, sir." Tyrol's steady voice came down the line. "You specifically told me to contact you if I received any information that would prove Bill Adams was involved in criminal activities."

Richard's gripe about the time was instantly forgotten, as was his wife upstairs.

"And?"

"He broke into the Number One Lychee Club last night."

"Really? With his murderous sailor friend? Tigh has broken his bail conditions?"

"No, sir. Adams was alone."

"You caught him in the act?" Richard rose out of his chair with excitement.

"No, sir. A snitch saw him breaking into the club and disappearing inside."

Richard sat back down in disappointment. "Can we prove anything? Snitches don't make the most reliable eyewitnesses, Mr Tyrol."

"I'm calling you from the club, sir. From the manager's office."

Richard closed his eyes, imagining Laura leaning on him for comfort when her husband was proved to be a lying piece of trash.

"We've found something."

"Yes?" he prompted the detective.

"A bullet. In the wall. I'd like to seek a warrant in the morning to confiscate Mr Adams' gun, and bring Mr Adams downtown pending charges of obstructing justice and interfering with a criminal investigation."

Richard's smug smile spread across his face like an oozing oil spill. "Yes."


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry about being technically challenged last chapter! Hope you enjoyed my Chelsie fic anyway. Hee.**

Arm in arm, Bill and Laura breezed into the Hall of Justice at dawn.

"We'd like to see a detective," Bill announced to the desk sergeant.

The bulldog-faced man squinted at them. "Let me get Detective Tyrol on the horn," he replied.

They went over to wait on the long bench along the wall. "I'm exhausted, but I couldn't possibly sleep," said Laura, sitting with a huff of breath.

"We'll make our statement and go home," said Bill, sitting beside her.

"That's no fun!" She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "Do you think they'll be able to find the doctor?"

"Let me do the talking," said Bill cautiously.

She turned her head slowly to stare at him.

He back-pedaled. "I'm just sayin', you gotta be careful with the cops. Don't give 'em more than they need."

"The police are here to help us," protested Laura.

Catching the couple unaware, Sergeant Tyrol came up beside them. "Excellent attitude."

Bill stood. "You're here awfully early," he said, uneasy.

Tyrol smiled. "Will you come with me?"

Instead of leading them to his office, he punched the button for the elevator.

"Where are we going?" asked Bill, putting his arm around Laura's waist protectively.

"District Attorney Adair is here as well. He's very interested in what you have to tell us."

Reluctantly, the Adams entered the elevator car.

Richard Adair was seated behind his desk, sipping a cup of coffee. He stood when he saw Laura enter the office.

"Please, take a seat." He motioned to two chairs before his desk. Laura sat, but Bill chose to remain standing beside her chair, his hand gripping the back.

Richard looked over Laura's crumpled clothing and raised his eyebrows. Suddenly self-conscious, she tried to smooth her wrinkled skirt. Noticing a blouse button was still undone, she quickly slipped the pearl button through its loop.

He glanced away, embarrassed for her. "So we understand you have some information for us."

Laura started to speak, then closed her mouth and glanced up at Bill. Her husband's lips were set in a harsh line, his eyes glinting.

Tyrol leaned against the desk and folded his arms. His gaze stayed on Bill. "Well, Mr Adams?" he prompted.

Bill raised his chin and spoke briskly. "We've come to believe that someone was targeting Mrs Adams, not Mrs Tigh."

"Really," Adair said encouragingly, peaking his fingertips.

"Mrs Adams was attacked three weeks ago, shortly after purchasing a bracelet. The seller was subsequently murdered with cyanide."

Tyrol got out his notebook and scratched a few words on it.

"A Mr Wu, from the Happiness Day Shop," Laura said, pointedly waiting for the detective to note the name. His pencil remained still, his plain face placid.

"You were attacked, Laura?" Adair said with concern. "Did you report this?"

"Well, no," she admitted. "They didn't get anything and Bill chased them off."

"Your husband was with you?" asked Tyrol.

"He wasn't my husband yet," explained Laura. "That was the night we met, actually." She glanced up at Bill and they exchanged smiles.

Adair and Tyrol's skeptical gazes met.

"Did you get a good look at your attacker?" said Tyrol.

"No, not at all. It happened so fast. First one man grabbed me, tried to take my bracelet. Then Bill appeared and ran him off."

"How convenient," drawled Adair, leaning back in his chair.

Confused, Laura tipped her head. "Yes, Bill was very gallant. We were parting when two men appeared and beat him to a pulp." She shuddered at the memory.

"Did you get a look at _your_ attackers?" Tyrol asked Bill.

"Say, what's with this?" Bill stepped before Laura, shielding her from the two men. "We're here to give you information about the crime and you're giving us guff."

Tyrol held up his hands. "We just want to get to the truth."

"Don't you, Mr Adams?" said Adair, a small smile on his lips.

"Yeah, yeah." Bill fumbled for his cigarette case.

"So, what leads you to believe you were the intended victim at the club, Mrs Adams?" Tyrol asked.

"Both Mrs Tigh and I ordered martinis."

"Probably half the club ordered martinis," Tyrol shot back immediately. "Who would benefit from your demise, Mrs Adams?"

Laura sat up straighter in her chair.

"You have drawn up a new will since marrying your husband?" Adair asked, keeping his eyes trained firmly on Laura. Bill growled his displeasure at the direction the questioning had taken.

Laura leapt up from her chair. Shooting a harsh glare in Richard's direction, she firmly grasped Bill's arm. Giving her husband a quick nod, she signaled him she was ready to go. They turned in unison, preparing to leave the office.

"We've got a bullet stuck in the wall at the Number One Lychee Club, Mr Adams," Adair said before they reached the door. "Would you care to explain to us how it came to be there?"

Bill paused and slowly turned back to Adair. He squinted at the DA, his voice lowering a register as he spoke. "People shooting off guns usually end up with stray bullets in uncomfortable places."

Adair scraped his chair back, placed his hands flat of the table and peered at Bill. "We might need you to come back downtown with your gun."

Opening the door, Bill tossed over his shoulder, "I don't know what you're talking about; it wasn't my gun."

After the door closed, Tyrol turned back to Adair. "I'll search their house and find that damn gun-"

Adair waved him off. "Leave it." He sat heavily in his leather chair and smiled grimly. "Let's give Mr Adams plenty of rope to hang himself."

~~AV~~

The ride down in the elevator was silent, each lost in their own rapidly turning thoughts.

When the doors opened in the Hall's foyer, the young reporter, Billy Keikeya was waiting. He jumped forward at the sight of them.

"Mr and Mrs Adams, may I have a moment?"

Bill held up his hand. "Kid, it's not a good time. Mrs Adams is very tired-"

"Hello, Billy, how nice to see you," Laura said with spirit, cutting off her husband.

"Are there any new developments?" asked Billy.

Bill gripped Laura's arm firmly. "Nothing."

Laura glared at him. "There're a number of developments, Billy."

It was Bill's turn to interrupt. "Have you got any new dirt?"

Billy looked over his shoulder. "Well...as it turns out..."

Laura and Bill took a step closer. The young man leaned between them like a long-legged crane feeding. "My source tells me that a snitch told the Chief you-" He glanced quickly at Bill. "-were at the Lychee club; that you broke in through a window-"

"I didn't!" Bill put his hands on his hips. "I broke in through the front door," he grumbled.

Billy blinked.

Bill narrowed his eyes. "I wonder why some snitch would lie about something like that?"

"Or who this snitch is," said Laura practically.

"Thanks, Billy," said Bill, quickly shaking the young man's hand.

"Wait," said Billy. "I need something back!"

Bill tugged his Fedora down low on his forehead. "I didn't do it."

"Do what? Are they accusing you of something?" Billy's fair cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Billy, please, you're going to need to trust us," said Laura. "We'll call you later, all right?"

Dissatisfied, Billy nonetheless nodded in agreement.

Bill led his wife away before the young reporter could change his mind.

~~AV~~

Once they'd entered her bedroom, Laura kicked off her shoes and flopped down fully clothed in the center of her bed.

"I can't remember the last time I was awake all night, can you?"

Bill shucked his suit's jacket and stripped off his tie. "About two weeks ago. Don't tell me you've forgotten already, darling."

After tipping off her shoes, Laura wiggled her toes in delight. "Mmm. At least I was laying down for most of that."

Bill pulled off his shoes as well. "So, you want to sleep now."

"I might have some energy I need to release before I can possibly sleep." Laura peeked up at him through her disheveled hair.

"Really?" Bill sat beside her on the bed and cupped her well-shaped knee. "I would think that driving would have wrung you out."

He watched her breasts heave as she said: "Oh darling, that was just a warm up!"

"So you want to go for another spin?" he asked, grinning.

Pushing back her hair, she returned his smile, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

Looming over her, Bill warned playfully: "I get to be in the driver's seat this time."

His kiss cut off her laughter.

~~AV~~

Bill carefully lifted Laura's arm off his chest and rolled out of the bed. She murmured and her brow furrowed, but she was too deeply asleep to see him dress quickly back into his discarded clothes and slip from the bedroom.

After giving the door a quick knock, Bill walked into Saul's bedroom. His friend was sitting by the window, staring out sightlessly at the sunlit view. An overflowing ashtray and whiskey-filled tumbler sat on the sill. The room stank of stale smoke and booze.

The double bed had been replaced by a narrow single, but it didn't appear to have been slept in.

"Saul, we gotta talk."

His friend turned in his chair, blinking as though waking.

Bill pulled the gold bangle from his pants' pocket. "How'd this get outside Jonathan Cavil's office at the Lychee Club?"

Saul's face crumbled and he slumped in his chair.

~~AV~~

Bill carefully opened Laura's bedroom door and crept in.

The light snapped on. "You don't need to sneak around," Laura said. She was sitting up in the bed, supported by a pile of satin pillows, her arms crossed. Dark shadows under her eyes showed she still wasn't well rested.

"I wasn't sneaking; I just didn't want to wake you." Bill approached the bed slowly.

"I woke and found you were gone. Couldn't sleep?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, thought I'd get some air."

"A lot on your mind?"

Bill stalked closer to the bed. "Say, what is this about?"

Before he could get to her, Laura flung back the covers. Nude was not the best way to have an confrontation; she spotted her satin wrap on her vanity chair and slipped it on.

Folding her arms, she turned to face him.

His face was set in its most obstinate expression. "Are you thinking about what that Adair fellow said?"

She raised her chin to look him in the eye. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged and glanced away. "Maybe thinking you made a mistake with me."

She shook her head, setting her hair into a whirling nest. "It's not that at all! But you're keeping something from me!"

"It's not important," he grumbled.

"So you are!"

"I tol' you, it's not important," he repeated stubbornly.

"Don't you trust me?"

He turned away and started picking up her discarded clothing from the floor.

Fury welled up, nearly blocking her throat. "Well?" she rasped.

He peered up at her as he lifted her burgundy skirt from the carpet. "Trust is a two way street, you know."

"What do you mean?" she asked, even as she sensed she didn't want to know the answer.

"If you can't trust me enough to admit you love me or not, why should I give you my full trust?"

Carefully folding her skirt, he laid it on the back of a chair.

When she didn't reply, he headed to the door. "I gotta take Jake for a walk."

Laura stared at the closed door for a long moment. Elosha came out of the dressing room and breezed past her to gather the garments Bill had picked up.

"You've done it now, Miss Laura," she said.

Recovering from her maid's sudden appearance, Laura shook her head again. "I haven't done anything."

"True, seems like you haven't done something important."

"He's hiding something from me, Elosha," protested Laura.

Elosha shrugged. "He's a man. They always say us women folk are the ones for secrets, but men have a way of forgetting plenty of details."

Laura snatched up her hairbrush and started brushing her hair vigorously. "This isn't some silly domestic spat, Elosha; this is murder!"

"Silly domestic spats are more important," pointed out Elosha. "You gotta learn to live with that man, my child, or he's gonna get tired of being treated like that dog of his."

Laura whirled around. "I do no such thing!"

"You've given him his own bed, haven't you?"

"It's his own bedroom and dressing room! My parents had separate bedrooms..."

Elosha only cocked her eyebrow at her charge. Gazing around the opulent, feminine bedroom, she pursed her lips. "This room needs redecorating."

Laura huffed indignantly and started brushing her hair again.

"You shouldn't have been listening in on our conversation. Why didn't you tell us you were in there?"

"Sounded like you two had some fighting to do. I waited for you to finish." Elosha noticed a loose button on the blouse and clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "You two are playing like two kids. He probably never was a boy. Who knows, maybe he's just humoring you; maybe he wants to finally be a boy. But now things have gotten serious and it's time for you to grow up, sugar."

Sinking into her vanity's chair, Laura twisted her hairbrush in her hands, tears filling her eyes.

Elosha stood over her, and tipped her gold-turbaned head to the side. "That Daddy of yours spoiled you girls rotten. I tried to do what I could, but I was nothin' but the nanny."

"No, Elosha!" Laura reached for the older woman's dark hands but the garments filled her hands.

Elosha gave her a smile; Laura wasn't sure it was in comfort or pity. "I better get these things cleaned and pressed," her maid murmured.

Laura watched her leave through a sheen of tears.


	11. Chapter 11

Saul peeked into Laura's study. His hostess was curled on a sofa, staring out the window at the billowing fog.

"Oh, hello, Laura. I'm lookin' for Bill."

She tried to smile, but failed. "He's gone out, Saul. Is there something I can help you with?"

"I just wanted to talk to him about that damn bracelet."

"He's told you about the bracelet?"

"Yeah." Saul slumped in a chair.

When it didn't look like Saul was going to talk, Laura went back to her view.

"I was just so stupid. But that woman, she could drive me so crazy," groaned Saul. "Crazy with love, so mad I'd go crazy."

Laura turned back, concerned.

"I wasn't hiding anything," explained Saul. "I just didn't want Bill to know how bad she was cuckolding me. Once she was dead, I didn't think it mattered anymore."

Confused, Laura started to ask him what he was talking about, but changed her mind. "The bracelet-" she led him on.

"Yeah, I'm sorry Bill kept that from the cops. I'm trying to get him to tell them. It looks bad, him lying about everything.."

"Your bracelet-" she said slowly.

"Bill helped me pick it out and get it engraved with Ellen's initials in Panama City. I was going to give it to her the night we were reunited but I lost it before that."

"Lost it?"

"When I saw her with that Cavil fellow through the window of his club, I just had to throw it away!" he said passionately.

"Of course," she said soothingly. "I could see that Bill wouldn't want to involve the police in your domestic tribulations."

"That's what he's thinkin'. But the cops ain't gonna see it that way," Saul said gloomily. "He took my gun-if they knew I had a gun!"

"It would look even worse," agreed Laura.

Saul nodded. "Exactly."

Laura heard the front door open and shut and the clack of Jake's nails on the marble floors.

Bill came to the doorway. He didn't notice Saul. "I'm back," he told Laura, his voice still cool.

She leaned back on the couch, gazing steadily at him. "I see that." She nodded toward his friend. "Saul's been looking for you. To talk about the bracelet."

Quickly looking from Saul to Laura, Bill moved into the study.

Uneasy, sensing their tension, Saul rose slowly. "It can wait."

"Oh, no, Saul. Go on," urged Laura.

"Nah, I better go get lunch. Haven't eaten in..." Saul trailed off. "A while."

Sympathetic, Laura motioned for him to go.

Once his friend had left the room, Bill clumped over to her. "What did you worm out of him?"

She folded her arms tightly. "I didn't _worm_ anything from him! He told me freely, _assuming_ that a husband and wife share everything!"

"Do they now," he muttered, pacing in front of her.

She sighed. "It sounds as though Ellen Tigh was sharing a bit too much."

"Dammit, yes." Bill sank into a chair across from her. "Damn that woman."

"And Saul found out."

Bill nodded glumly, gripping his knees with frustration.

"The police would not see that in a favorable light. They'd be back to suspecting Saul."

"I'd rather they think I was some gigolo out to kill you; keep them off a brokenhearted guy's back."

Leaning forward, Laura tentatively looped one of her fingers through his. "Bill, darling, could Saul have..."

"No."

"But he saw his wife with another man..."

"I've seen him in dozens of barroom brawls," said Bill. "He's got a quick temper and it burns out just as quick. If he was going to do it, he would have killed her that night, not waited days to murder her in front of a crowd. Trust me, as soon as she was back in his arms, he forgot all about her catting around."

Frustrated, Laura hopped up. "We must find the real killers!"

Bill suddenly smiled, watching her emotion with admiration. "Sure, honey."

"I'm serious, Bill!"

"I know," he said soothingly, standing and putting an arm around her shoulders. "So what should we do first?"

"Find that doctor."

~~AV~~

Laura and Bill stood in the center of the room, side by side, as Old Jaffee ushered Doctor Cottle into the study.

Laura smiled brightly. "Doctor Cottle, how lovely to see you again."

"Mrs Adams," Doctor Cottle greeted her. He removed an almost completely burnt cigarette stub from his mouth and eyed it disdainfully. Laura automatically retrieved an ashtray from her desk and held it out toward him. He disposed of the cigarette, then immediately replaced it with another from his pocket.

"What can I do for you today, Mrs Adams?" he asked, the unlit cigarette jiggling as he spoke.

"You were so helpful the other day, we were hoping you could assist us again."

"Yes?" Doctor Cottle asked, looking warily from Laura to Bill and back again.

"We're looking for a doctor," Laura told him.

"What, other than myself?"

"A specific doctor," Laura continued as if he hadn't replied.

"What's his name?" Cottle asked, frowning.

"Well, we don't know exactly. My husband spoke to this gentleman on the telephone. He said he was a doctor."

"He had quite a distinctive British accent," Bill said, his hands clasped firmly together in front of him. "We thought you might know him."

"What!" Cottle snapped. "You think I know every doctor in the San Francisco area?"

"With the accent-" Laura started.

"He might not even be a medical doctor, did you think of that?"

Laura and Bill glanced at each other before they both found interest in the pattern of the carpet.

"I can't believe you've called me up here on another fool's errand," Doctor Cottle growled, patting at his pockets impatiently. Bill eventually took a silver lighter from his pocket and assisted the doctor in lighting the cigarette hanging from his mouth. "I wouldn't know what to say if either of you actually presented yourselves to me with some type of symptoms," Cottle grumbled.

Laura sighed and flopped into one of the study's chairs. Doctor Cottle lowered himself into one opposite her. Bill moved to the back of the room to pour them all a drink.

"You are probably right. It may be a dead end," Laura said.

Bill served Cottle, then Laura, a highball glass each from a tray.

"I would have thought you'd have more sense, Mr Adams, than to let your wife convince you to play her foolish games. Maybe Mr Adams needs to use a firmer hand with you, young lady."

Bill rested his hand on Laura' shoulder and gave it a squeeze, answering before she could give a sharp retort. "She can be quite a handful, admittedly."

Laura uncrossed and recrossed her ankles, and then gulped down a generous amount of alcohol, her short fuse ready to blow.

Cottle studied Bill's protective stance next to his wife for a moment longer, then stood and gave Bill a slap on the shoulder. "I'm pleased you've found such a good man, Laura. You keep looking after her, Mr Adams, you hear."

"I will, Doctor, I will," Bill promised.

"Let's see. British you say? I would think you could try the British Embassy. They surely keep records of their nationals in the country. If this man is genuinely a doctor, and it's not merely a nickname, he could be well-known to the staff there."

Laura also stood and gave Doctor Cottle a quick hug, causing him to turn a crimson shade.

"Thank you, Doctor."

~~AV~~

The reception clerk at the British Embassy looked up as a couple approached his desk. It was a middle-aged man and woman, expensively dressed. He gave them a deferential smile. "May I be of assistance?"

"We're looking for a British citizen," said Bill.

The young man raised his ginger-colored eyebrows. "Living in the city?"

"We believe so."

"Name?"

Bill and Laura exchanged glances. Laura gave him a sympathetic smile. "That's our problem. We don't know his name."

Pursing his pink lips, the clerk looked perplexed.

"He's a doctor," said Bill. "That's all I know. And his accent was English. Educated."

The young man tapped his pencil against his chin. Then his expression cleared. "I'll check with Miss Biers. She knows simply every British citizen in the Bay Area!" He hopped up and disappeared through a thick oak door.

After just a few minutes, he returned with a tall, quietly stylish woman. She greeted with Adams with an accent that Bill placed in New Zealand. He repeated their request.

"There's a number of doctors in San Francisco-" Miss Biers mused.

"He said he was somewhere close to Chinatown," Bill added.

"Without a name..." She shrugged her wide shoulders.

"Could you guess his age?" Laura asked, hoping to eke out some detail from Bill.

He shook his head. "I wouldn't say he was older like Doctor Cottle, but it's hard to say."

"If he's lived here for years, he wouldn't be registered with the embassy," said Miss Biers smoothly. "Some ex-pats keep in close contact with us, others are running away, you understand?"

Bill nodded, deep in thought. Some guy embroiled with nefarious activity may very well be hiding from the authorities.

"Thank you very much," he said to the embassy staff.

He turned to Laura. "I guess it's really a dead end, darling," he told her.

Laura agreed and they reluctantly left. Standing in the embassy's front doorway, Deanna watched them walk through the grounds to the wrought iron gates, a small smile on her lips.

~~AV~~

Back at the house, Laura ordered a light supper for them. "I think we'll be turning in early, don't you, dear?" she said to Bill as they sat at the dining room table.

He nodded ruefully and lit a cigarette. "Feels like I haven't slept in days," he admitted.

"Yes, it's been a tiring few days," said Laura stiffly, nodding at the maid to serve wine. "Upsetting..." She trailed off.

Bill squinted at her through a cloud of smoke. "Can't have that."

She clamped her lips together, holding in a retort. The maid quickly placed plates of salad before them and fled. The servants could read their moods like an old woman felt approaching storms in her rheumatic knees.

"Nothing from the embassy." Bill ground out his cigarette and pushed aside the ashtray before attacking his salad. "So what now, Madam Detective?"

Laura laid aside her fork and propped her chin in her hand. "Searching for the doctor does seem to be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Do we have any other leads?"

"Two crates in the club's basement. Both empty, but with the impression that a fairly large object once was inside. Something mechanical. There's machine oil on the straw."

"The device the doctor spoke of?"

"I'd say so."

They fell silent as the maid removed their plates. Bill refilled their wine glasses.

"I don't like chasing shadows," he said firmly. "For a successful hunt, you need to flush the game out of the high weeds."

Laura flashed a grin at him. This was the very attitude that she loved him for.

"And I've got just the way to do it," she said.

He smiled back. The maid put the soup before them and melted away, a spring in her step. The Mister and Missus were happy again.

"So don't keep me in suspense," Bill prompted Laura.

"Drink your consume," she chided.

He complied, but peeked at her over his large spoon, looking impatient as a little boy.

"The charity ball for the wayward Chinese girls. We shall do an Oriental theme, hire that Cavil person's staff. Surely someone in the bunch is the murderer!"

Bill's spoon clanked on the bowl. "So you're gonna invite this murderer to try and bump you off again? Not the best plan, I must say."

She rolled her eyes. "I won't allow them to actually kill me, darling!"

"No, _I_ won't allow it," he stated.

"Of course, dear," she said absentmindedly. She was planning the party already. "We'll hold it here to sweeten the pot. Even if I'm not wearing the bracelet, that gives them a chance to get into the house and up to my room to find it."

Bill shrugged. "I suppose it's worth a shot. You need to throw that bash anyway."

Laura finished her soup mechanically, reflecting. Her charity work had been her occupation for decades and yet it all seemed so shallow now compared to murder.

"You're ready for bed," her husband said.

Laura looked up. "What do you mean?"

"You're drooping in your soup," Bill said affectionately.

Suddenly wide awake, Laura put aside her spoon. "Yes, let's go to bed," she said, her voice sultry.

He came around the table and pulled her from her chair. "You're tired, remember?"

She wound her arm around his waist. They walked together to the stairs and climbed to the landing. Instead of leading Laura to her bedroom, Bill kissed her on the cheek and gave her a gentle shove toward her door. "Off you go," he urged.

She stared at him.

"Good night, darling," he said and went into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Perplexed, she slowly trailed into her room, leaving the door ajar. He was simply going for his pajamas and robe, she decided. She dressed for bed, keeping an ear out for his footfall.

She paced across the thick carpet, waiting. He didn't come.

Flipping back her bedding, she plopped down on the edge of the mattress. "Well, I'm not going to him," she announced to the empty walls.

But instead of sliding under the covers, she slipped her bed shoes back on and strode out onto the landing. She glared at his closed door. Perhaps he'd gone to speak to Saul again and was detained. Maybe he'd gone down for a drink. She'd just check...

Opening his bedroom door, she discovered Bill sitting up in his bed in a pool of light from his bedside lamp. He was bare-chested, but wearing his glasses and was reading a book.

He peered at her over the rims. "Did you need something, dear?" he asked casually.

She sauntered into the room, looking around. He'd added no personal touches; he might as well be staying in a hotel. Jake's bed was in the corner with the dog curled up tightly inside. Jake thumped his tail in greeting, but didn't rise. A small fire crackled in the fireplace.

"Or are you looking for someone?" he asked, putting his book aside. Pulling off his glasses, he laid them atop his book on the bedside table.

She stood beside his bed, still at a loss for words.

Bill held up the covers for her. He was naked under them.

She raised her eyebrows. "Expecting company?" she asked, a catch in her throat.

He motioned with his head. "Get in here, girl. I'm cold."

She shrugged off her robe and happily slid into the bed with him. She had to have the last word though. "What do you expect with no pajamas on?" she asked smugly.

Wrapping an arm around her, he mumbled into her hair, "I thought I might need the upper hand if you came looking for me."

She wiggled against him, fitting their legs together just the way she liked. "I enjoy when you have the upper hand."

He squeezed her tightly, but said: "I'm beat. All you're getting is a hug until the morning."

She looked up at him with surprise. "I don't need anything else."

He cupped her chin so she couldn't look away. His thumb stroked her cheek as he looked at her with wonder. "I'm all I have to give you. You've got everything else in the world."

"Bill-" she said, stunned at his admission.

He laid his finger on her lips to shush her. "Forget I said that."

Relieved, Laura looked around the room again. "This is a very comfortable bed, Bill. Perhaps we can move it into m-our room."

Flipping off the light, Bill groaned. "Tomorrow."


	12. Chapter 12

Deanna crept across the dark bedroom, intent on her objective. At the bed, she grasped the sleeping Baltar's shoulder and shook him awake.

"What is it?" He blinked in the darkness. "Oh, hello. How lovely." He reached for her.

"Stop it, you ninny," she hissed. "Get up!"

"Give me just a moment. You've taken me by surprise," he drawled, grasping her firm thigh.

"No," she said firmly, twisting his wrist until he whimpered. "Get dressed. We're going."

"Going where?" Now he heard the sounds of movement in his outer rooms. "What's happening?"

"Since your stupid little visit to the Lychee club last night, it's too dangerous for you to stay here."

He pulled the covers up under his chin. "Do you think the Nazis are searching for me?"

"Yes." She tossed his pants over his head. I'll give you three minutes and then we're dragging you out of here by your heels."

In the living room, Cavil and two burly men were loading up the pieces of the device.

"What a mess," Cavil said in disgust.

"Be careful with that!" fussed Baltar, still buttoning up his shirt as he came out of the bedroom. "I must insist! Put my things down!"

"These aren't your things," explained Cavil patiently. "They're ours, and you work for us."

Putting his hands on his hips, the doctor blocked a table covered with tiny parts, all lined up by size. "What is going on?"

"You've endangered our entire project with that one phone call." Deanna came up behind him and handed Baltar the jacket to his suit jacket and a tie. "We need to move you to safer location."

"Who was that man on the phone, if not you?" Baltar asked Cavil as he knotted his tie in jerky turns.

"It's not important."

"He's a Nazi!" guessed Baltar.

The silent men packing up his equipment looked at each other in surprise.

"Shut up!" hissed Deanna, looking at them quickly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Baltar said quickly. "Aren't they in on the job?"

Cavil sighed deeply. "You are being pursued by a man and woman named Bill and Laura Adams. They are extremely dangerous. If they try to contact you in any way, shape or form, you are to get out of there."

Deanna nodded.

"So it's a spy ring?" Baltar said with relish. "I mean, two people make a ring, right?"

One of the men lifted the largest piece of the device and carefully put it in a packing crate.

Baltar finally lowered his voice. "And Hitler will stop at nothing to acquire the decoding machine," he whispered.

Cavil gripped his arm with a shockingly strong grip for such an old man. "Yes, Doctor. You may need to give your life for the cause."

Baltar squeaked like a rat with his tail in a trap.

Deanna took his other arm, her grip just as strong. But her voice was soothing: "We're taking you somewhere safe and where no one will look for you."

She motioned to the table with her head. One of the men swept it clean with his beefy hand, wiping the contents into a sack.

"Those are very delicate!" protested the doctor, twisting his neck to watch.

"You're coming with us," Cavil said coolly. He and Deanna frogmarched the doctor, babbling all the way, down the stairs and into their waiting black car.

~~AV~~

Laura came out of her slumber at the touch of a cold nose on the back of her neck and heavy breathing in her ear.

"Jake, don't-" she murmured, fumbling behind her, feeling thick hair.

"It's not Jake."

Giggling, Laura snuggled against the body behind her, an intoxicating combination of hard and soft. "No, I guess not."

"How'd you sleep?"

"Like a baby."

Laura lifted her hips, wordlessly helping Bill draw the hem of her negligee up until it bunched around her waist.

"I'm not allowed to call you baby," he joked.

Laura sighed and relaxed into his touch, his palms rubbing the front of her thighs, his fingers teasingly skimming the edge of her underwear.

Laura tilted her head back invitingly as Bill began to press kisses down her neck and across her shoulder blade. He paused when he encountered her gown's thin strap. Hooking his tongue around it, he dragged the silken shoestring piece of material down off her shoulder, the underside of his tongue leaving a wet trail across her skin that caused her to shiver.

"This really is a comfortable bed." Laura rolled over and onto Bill, unabashedly squashing him with her weight. "I didn't notice _this,_ " she wriggled her lower half of her body until her knees slid down either side of his hips, "lump in the mattress last night, however."

Their lips hovered dangerously close. Both Bill and Laura obstinately refused to yield that extra half an inch for them to meet.

"That's lucky. You mightn't have slept quite so soundly if you had." Bill said. He tugged at her gown, eventually maneuvering it up and over her head while she still lay mostly on top of him.

"True. Now that we've established firmness, I think we should test out flexibility."

Laura let out a small 'oomph' when Bill flipped her over onto her back, pinning her under him.

"You need to consider age when you evaluate firmness and flexibility," Bill said.

"Age? Mmm, do I have to make concessions?"

"You're not thinking of investing in a new model?"

"No," she said, cupping his cheek. "I'm very happy with the one I have."

Finally Bill bent his head and kissed her. Laura hooked her legs around his back, returning his kiss with fervor.

There was a discreet knock on the door. Then Old Jaffee entered holding the upstairs hallway telephone in one hand, the cord looped in his other.

"Sir, Doctor Cottle is on the telephone. He says it's urgent."

The butler's droopy brows rose briefly when he realized the master was not alone but his expression remained stony.

Bill tumbled off Laura, quickly grasping the bed covers and pulling them over her head.

"Thank you, Jaffee."

The elderly man continued to stand at the foot of the bed, staring intently at the wall.

"Damn," Bill muttered, searching around for his robe.

"You'd better hurry, dear," said Laura, her voice muffled under the bedding. "Doctor Cottle will think he's been disconnected."

Bill growled, only able to find Laura's pink silk robe with its ivory feather ruff. Vainly, he tried to put it on, but could only get his forearm halfway up the robe's arm. Blowing feathers off his nose, he struggled with the garment. Finally giving up, he tied it around his waist to cover his legs like an apron. Laura peeked out over the top of the the sheets, snorting as she viewed Bill's bare backside.

"That suits you, darling," she teased, giggling.

"Thank you, Jaffee," Bill repeated.

"Sir?" Jaffee dared to glance in his direction, confused.

"You can put the telephone down. I'll return it to the hall when I'm finished."

Setting the phone on a table, Jaffee gave a slight bow before backing out of the room.

"Hello," Bill snapped into the telephone. "Yes...You have? Yeah, that sounds like the guy I talked to." He covered the receiver with his hand. "Doc Cottle thinks he's found the doctor." He turned back to the phone. "Just a telephone number? It's a start. I'll ask Laura, she may have connections we can use. No. Yes...thank you Doctor, we owe you one."

Bill carried the phone to the doorway. He peeped out, but spotted a maid at the end of the hall, dusting. He filled Laura in while he watched for his opportunity to replace the phone. "Doc says a visiting fellow at Stanford took off a few weeks ago. He's some brilliant English scientist, but the other scientists just assumed he's shacked up with some dame."

The maid turned the corner. Clutching the pink robe with one hand and the phone in the other, Bill darted with amazing quickness for a man of his size out to the hall, replaced the phone and returned, slamming the door behind him. "Which sounds like the doctor I talked to," he said, panting slightly as he leaned against the door.

Laura was gone from the bed.

Bill spluttered when he spied her. "What are you wearing?" he asked, astonished.

Laura looked down at his frumpy old brown robe and laughed "You took my peignoir," she pointed out. "I just pulled on the first thing I found."

Bill wrenched the fine silk wrap off, tossed it aside and advanced on her.

"I think I've changed my mind about this," Laura mused, running her hands along her arms in the thick woolen garment. .

"Oh, okay." Bill couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice. "Sorry, but I'll have to go and have a cold shower then before we head down for breakfast."

Laura laughed. "No! No! I mean I've changed my mind about this robe. I now see its appeal. It's very warm." She ran her fingers along its lapel. "And soft." Burying her head in its brown fleecy collar, she added, "And it smells of your favorite cologne."

Bill untied the belt. "So, you haven't changed your mind about the other."

"No," she said huskily.

"I think I'll demand you give this back, then," he said, pushing the garment open.

Laura wrapped the big robe around Bill's bare flanks. "I can be equally as demanding, sir."

Bill bent to suckle the skin of her neck. "Thank God."

~~AV~~

Billy Keikeya followed the stoop-shouldered butler to one the vast mansion's rooms. It turned out to be a man's study, with dark walnut walls and deep maroon carpets. Mr Adams, in a blue suit, leaned against the heavy desk. Mrs Adams, her sleek legs encased in a slim yellow-checked skirt, was curled on a brown leather couch.

She was the one to greet him. "Thank you for coming so promptly, Billy," she said warmly, holding out her hand to him. Still unsure, he went to her and shook her hand.

The whole time, he felt the intense gaze of the silent man.

"Do you have some information for me?" Billy asked.

Mrs Adams looked quickly at her husband.

"Possibly," the deep voice rumbled behind Billy. "But we'll need your help."

"For what?"

"We have a phone number," said Bill, moving to stand beside the younger man. "Would you be able to get us an address with it?"

"Who is it?"

Bill's voice went even lower, shaking Billy's bones. "A key player in the murder...and perhaps something bigger."

His eyes wide, the younger man's gaze darted to Laura. She nodded wordlessly.

"I'll try," Billy said. "May I use the telephone?"

Bill motioned to the instrument.

"Hello? Yes, may I speak with Miss Foster?"

Bill moved to the couch. Laura swung her legs down and he sat beside her, taking her hand.

Billy turned back to them, his fair face flushed with excitement. He didn't need to tell them anything. They exchanged satisfied smiles.

~~AV~~

Blocking the lock on the door to apartment number three at the luxury building on Telegraph Hill, Bill slid his knife between the door and jamb. He jiggled the lock, working it loose.

"Mr Adams, I really don't think-" hissed Billy, pressing close and looking frantically behind him.

"It's fine," muttered Bill, twisting the blade slightly.

"Let me try. I'm used to using a blade," rumbled Doctor Cottle, ashes from his cigarette falling on Bill's shoulder.

"Doctor, please!" barked Bill.

"Let me just shoot the lock out," suggested Saul, peering over all of them.

"Bill, don't you dare," scolded Laura. "That will draw the authorities for certain!"

"I told you to stay in the car!" growled Bill, shooting her a worried look.

Laura pushed all the men forward with her indignant glare. "I am not some little woman to be protected-"

"I just need you ready to drive the getaway car-"

"That thing?" Laura looked scornfully down at the staid Rolls parked on the street. It was the only vehicle large enough for all of them.

Jake wound his way forward through all the legs, wanting to be in on the action too.

Everyone tried to keep their balance, but toppled forward, crashing against the door. It burst open under their weight and they all tumbled into the apartment.

"Be quiet!" they all cried out.

"Hush!" they chided each other.

"For Gawd's sakes," said Cottle, "Shut the hell up."

Saul pulled his gun from his waistband and waved it around. Seeing this, Bill regretted giving the weapon back to his friend.

"Let's just look around and then get outta here," said Bill, beginning to check the apartment out.

There wasn't much to see. It was furnished, but stripped of any personal items. Cottle pulled the protesting Billy to the bedroom. Laura quickly moved to the kitchen and looked in cabinets.

"Hungry?" asked Bill.

"Silly. People hide things in their oatmeal tins." Laura took the lid off the Quaker's Oats and peered in. Disappointed, she put it back on the shelf.

Billy scurried from the bedroom, the doctor ambling behind him. "Mrs Adams, I really don't think you should be here. If the police were to find us here-"

"I might get in the papers?" She raised an eyebrow at him. Opening the freezer, she pulled out the icecube trays and stared closely. "Do you think diamonds could be hidden in the ice?"

"Are we lookin' for diamonds?" asked Saul, confused.

"Actually, we don't know what we're looking for," admitted Laura, putting the tray back.

Bill, who'd been on his hands and knees under the dining room table, peered out, grinning. "But I think we're getting closer." He held up a small object.

Saul took it from him. Laura hurried over to look closely. Billy craned his neck to look over her shoulder. Doctor Cottle puffed away on his cigarette.

Bill crawled out from under the table. "It's a gear."

"To what?" asked Laura, frustrated.

Saul turned it over in his hands. "It's not machined. It appears to be made by hand."

"Perhaps an rare antiques smuggling ring?" guessed Laura. "That would explain the packing crates from China."

Saul and Bill looked at each other thoughtfully. Finally, Bill spoke. "I don't know, honey. This feels bigger than that. Are antiques worth murdering over?"

Jake whined and looked to the door.

Billy went pale. "They're here!"

"Who?" whispered Laura.

"The police!" said the young man.

"How would they know we're here?" said Doctor Cottle.

"You were sending them smoke signals?" Laura suggested.

There was a knock at the door. Aghast, they all stared at each other.

Laura strode over and opened the door.

Detective Tyrol stood on the landing. "Good afternoon, Mrs Adams." He looked over her shoulder at the assembled group. "On an outing?"

She improvised quickly. "We're looking at this apartment for Mr Tigh."

The policeman pushed his hat back on his head. "I see."

Bill came to stand beside his wife. "How did you know where to find us?"

He nodded toward the door. "Not to many Rolls Royces in this town, even up in Pacific Heights."

"I told you we shouldn't bring that car," said Laura.

Bill ignored her. "What can we help you with, Detective."

"I've come to tell you that we're releasing Mrs Tigh's body and her belongings to her husband."

"You've completed your investigation?" asked Laura, slipping her arm through her husband's.

Chief's smile wasn't pleasant. "You could say the focus of our investigation has shifted."

The detective tipped his hat forward in place and clattered down the stairs, leaving them looking at each other, worried and anxious.


	13. Chapter 13

Laura greeted the planning committee for the charity ball in her foyer. "Please ladies, let's retire to the tea room," she said, herding the clucking group of women.

They settled on various chairs, as the Jaffees dispensed delicate tea cups and small plates with crustless sandwiches. Emily and Laura tried to catch everyone's attention, and failed. The women felt the need to gossip first. Since their number one discussion topic, Laura Adams nee Roslin, was present, they turned to the international headlines.

"Mark my words, that Roosevelt is going to pull us into this war," said Mrs Chambers, her bright pink lips set disapprovingly.

"What war?" said Miss Elmer, blinking from behind her wire-rimmed glasses. "It's all just men being men." She hissed the word _men_ like it was profanity. "They'll be done waggling about their...bits and nothing will come of it."

Mrs Randolf pushed out her impressive bosom. "My Harold says some fantastic business opportunities will arise from this conflict for the smart man."

Laura looked up from pouring tea for her ancient Aunt Katherine. "How simply vile," she said mildly.

Mrs Randolf waved her off. "Please, Laura. Your father made at least ten million dollars during the Great War."

Laura flushed red and started to speak, but the claw-like hand on her arm stopped her. She looked down into Aunt Katherine's watery pale eyes, pleading with her not to make a scene. Taking another deep breath, Laura held out a plate of sugar cookies. "Treat, Aunt Katherine?"

"Lovely, simply lovely," bleated her aunt, accepting two small cookies.

Mrs Davidson, a fluttering bird-like small woman, with a froth of lace around her face, sipped nervously at her tea. "I know I don't want war. Whatever we can do to avoid it-"

"Sometimes dictators must be stopped!" broke in a red-cheeked woman, planting her large hands on her knees.

Shaking her head, Mrs Davidson placed her teacup and saucer on the table beside her. "No. No more wars."

"Oh, don't worry," said a showy divorcee, Mrs Franklin, in an eternally bored drawl. "If it happens, it'll all happen a world away. It won't touch us."

"That's what they said last time, and my boy Charlie died over there! Shot down like a dog to die in a mud-filled trench! And he an officer!" said Mrs. Davidson sharply.

Emily moved quickly to her side. "Please, Mrs. Davidson, allow me to refresh your tea."

The older woman nodded and dabbed at her eyes with a fine lace handkerchief.

Thinking the storm had passed, Laura had to close her eyes and fight for control as Mrs Randolf's dearest friend, Harriet Burns, the wife of a minor British diplomat, spoke up, her piercing nasal tones carrying across the room. "It can be argued that this Hitler person has some very good ideas. I saw it in my beloved Home-" She clutched at her strands of pearls and raised her chin definitely. "And you Americans have the same problems here; the Negros rioting, Jews with their greasy fingers in everything, Bolsheviks teaching in your universities, Socialists marrying into the finest families!"

Mrs Randolf caught Mrs Burns' eye and shook her head slightly, her bright-red lips puckered in discontent.

Emily sighed to herself. When this party broke up, a new rumor would spread through the finest homes; Bill Adams was a socialist.

The secretary cleared her throat and Laura nodded, understanding her signal.

"I've been thinking about that," Laura said loudly, gaining everyone's attention. "I'd like to go with a theme party, one befitting our charity. A Chinese festival, with Oriental decor."

The women listened with interest, all talk of war forgotten.

"Even the food and waiters shall be from one of the Chinese clubs. Everything will be mysterious and exotic." Laura smiled encouragingly.

The sensibly dressed woman who'd protested defending Hitler, frowned. Miss Hamilton lacked any humor or imagination. "Won't that be rather low class, Laura?" she asked.

"We need something that will separate this function from all the other black-tie events in our social circle," Laura pointed out.

For once, Mrs Franklin showed some energy. "That sounds wonderful, Laura!" she enthused. "Yes, something different! Life can be so dreary!" she added impatiently.

Bill strolled into the room and the assembly fell silent. Most of the women looked frightened, a few defiant, and a few more, like Mrs Franklin, looked him over speculatively. He was dressed causally in a deep blue cashmere sweater under a grey Harris tweed blazer and with gray flannels. Laura had learned he preferred not to wear a tie around the house and she found his choice very handsome indeed. Her face lit at the sight of him.

She stretched out her hand to him. "Darling."

"How're you ladies doin'?" he rumbled, moving to her side and wrapping an arm around her slim waist.

"I'd just suggested a Chinese festival theme for our party," she said as though they hadn't discussed it earlier.

"Oh, that'd be swell," he said a bit too jovially. She squinted at him, a brief critique of his acting skills.

He tried again. "How about that place we were at the other night? They've got a full Oriental staff, band." He affected a concerned expression. "I feel bad that they've been closed ever since the accident."

"Accident?" broke in Mrs Burns. "It was my understanding that it was murder!" It had been noted more than once that for a diplomat's wife, Harriet Burns was very undiplomatic.

Bill turned his strong gaze on her and she literally took a step backward. "Yes," was all he said.

Squeezing his arm, Laura smiled brightly "You're right, darling! That club was awfully fun." She turned to Emily. "Give them a call, and see if their staff is available for the party."

"Yes, Mrs Adams," murmured Emily, moving to the phone.

When the gathering finally broke up, Bill told Laura that he would give Jake a quick walk. "Want to come?"

She shook her head. "No, I need to clear my thoughts, after..." She waved her hand at the tea room.

"Nothin' better than some fresh air and husband's company for that," he said, his expression a bit hurt.

"I just need a moment, dear," she told him.

He nodded, understanding now. After kissing her temple, he called the dog.

Even though she'd claimed a few moments ago this was what she needed, Laura suddenly felt empty and rootless. She wandered into one of her favorite rooms of her house, the long ballroom. Going to the one of the tall windows and opening it, she took in the view. The scene rolled over the hills, encompassing the varied neighborhoods and bustling waterfront.

The new bridge glowed its deep orange color, and closed the narrow opening of the bay. Another new bridge, less lovely, except at night when its lights looped like strings of pearls across the widest part of the water, held down Yerba Buena Island-no, they were calling it Treasure Island now, with its expanded shores and fanciful sights of the World's Fair.

She loved these endless changes; change meant you were still alive.

Her view was more than sights and sounds, but the smells. Rich coffee beans roasting wafted up from the Hills Brothers factory. It mingled with the scent of chocolate from the Ghirardelli factory. Less melodious, an oily garlic odor would appear from the direction of Chinatown, but that was all part of the tapestry.

There were never views like this from her childhood house, even though it was in the same location. The front parlors faced the street, not the bay so Mother may watch for callers. And lace curtains covered all the windows, keeping the house still and properly demure.

For naturally vivacious young girls, it was easier to remain sedate when the walls were covered with dark busily-patterned wallpaper, the furnishing upholstered in heavy red velvet, the floors muffled by thick carpets, all her mother's taste.

But Laura had loved that old house, with its soaring parapets, widow's walk and Gothic lines. It had been built with the lumber from a dozen redwood giants felled just across the water in Marin. When the earthquakes struck, the strong wood meant it swayed and undulated like those dancing ladies who performed in Polk Gulch's halls and their mother didn't realize the girls knew about.

She had loved that house until the biggest earthquake of them all. It had rudely tossed the three girls out of their beds and onto the floor with a great thump and shattered all their windows. Elosha had been there in moments, dressing them and bringing them to the front parlor.

Where they waited and waited, for two days. Father had been away on business in Sacramento, but he had always told Mother if something bad happened, to remain in the house and he'd come right away.

Smoke was thick in the air, filtering in through the empty window frames. All the servants but Elosha fled. The street outside was madness, clattering wagons and swaying buggies, then it fell eerily silent.

When the distant sound of explosions started, Laura slipped away to climb up, up through the empty house to the widow's walk. Elosha caught her just as she stepped out.

"Child, get back in here! You could fall!"

Then the older woman was struck by the horror all around them. Piles of brick and wood that had been dwellings covered the hills for as far as they could see in the smoke and fog.

Elosha pulled the teen to her. They saw where the explosions were coming from. The Army was blowing up the huge mansions across Van Ness Avenue.

"Why, Elosha?"

"There," the nanny breathed.

A wall of flames was coming toward the wide thoroughfare, eating everything in its path.

"They're creating a firebreak," Elosha explained.

"Will it work?" asked Laura.

"We better hope so. Your mother will not leave." Elosha's fear and anger mingled like the flames and smoke.

She tugged Laura back to the small door that led to the attics. "Come along, dear. We've got to talk to your mother."

Down in the parlor, their mother sat perched in her favorite little walnut and green velvet-tufted Chippendale chair, her back not touching the chair's back, like a proper lady.

Laura sat across from her.

"Your face is dirty, darling. You must wash," said her mother before returning to watching through the lace curtains, now dingy and gray.

"Mother, there's a big fire. It's coming. We must _go_."

"Darling, I've told you girls and Elosha, your father said to wait here."

"Surely he would want us to leave!" Laura's throat was raw from the smoke and it hurt to yell.

"Tone, dearest," chided her mother. "A lady doesn't not raise her voice."

Laura studied her mother. Blessed with lovely blonde hair, only now turning white at the temples, light grey eyes, and a peaches and cream complexion-no firecracker red hair or freckles for her-she was Edgar Roslin's prize possession. But Laura realized her mother had no thoughts. And when she needed to be able to think without her husband, she was incapable.

In that moment, Laura swore if she survived, she would never wed if this is what marriage meant.

As they slept uneasily that night, Elosha came to them. "Quick, girls, get dressed."

"Where's Mommy?" asked Martha, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Put on your shoes, sweetie," Elosha said.

In the dark, Laura and the nanny looked at each other. Laura helped little Susan tug on her dress and shoes quickly.

"What about the firebreak?" whispered Laura in the dim hallway.

"The fire's coming from another direction," replied the nanny grimly. "It's everywhere now."

Elosha led them out through the back door, and at first Laura thought it was day. But it was the fire, so close as to light the sky like the sun.

"Should we try to get her?" Laura looked back one more time at their home.

"There's no changing her mind, Miss Laura. We've got to save ourselves."

They stumbled through the brick-strewn streets, following the other stragglers, until the crowds grew. They were swept along in the general direction of the bay.

A wagon stopped. "Get on, girls!" bellowed a man with a sooty face.

"Thank you so much!" Laura lifted her smallest sister Susan into the wagon, while Elosha helped Martha up. Laura went to help Elosha step up on the wheel hub.

"I ain't got room for no coloreds!"

Suddenly, Laura's fear turned to fury. "Then I shan't go either!" She jumped back.

"Girl, get on that damn wagon," urged Elosha, pushing her forward.

"I shan't!"

The teamster's big face crumpled. "Okay, okay, get on! She's got to sit on the back tailgate though."

They scrambled aboard, and rode down the now blackened Van Ness Avenue in the wave of humanity fleeing instinctively toward the safety of water.

Thousands gathered in the rubble of the piers' warehouses, seeking any escape.

It came in the form of the naval cruiser, the U.S.S. Chicago, with room for them all. As Laura and what remained of her family walked up the gangplank, she dared to look back to her beloved city one more time.

High on the hill she knew was hers, there was nothing but flames.

Their father finally found them in Sausalito. He'd taken a train as far as where the trestle had fallen into the Susuin marshes outside Benicia, then used any way possible to reach the city. He'd fought with the police and Army until he'd been allowed to go home-and had found only smoldering rubble with a crude cross placed atop.

The news that his daughters and their nanny had been seen fleeing the house kept him searching until they were reunited.

Most of their friends and neighbors chose to buy homes down the peninsula in Menlo Park or Atherton where they felt safer. Edgar Roslin bought the lots on Pacific Heights to fill their old home's block. He built in a modern style, with sandstone blocks and many arched Palladian windows.

And he gave Laura free rein on the designs and furnishings. "You'll be mistress of this house, my girl. Make it your own."

She did. Anything and everything her mother would have disliked; polished marble floors, light-colored fabrics, soaring pale plaster walls.

The first party in their new house was Laura's coming-out ball. Edgar Roslin assumed the ball next year would be for her engagement party. But it was not to be. To his puzzlement, his increasingly lovely daughter turned down proposal after proposal, and chose to attend Mills Women's College across the bay.

After completing her education, she returned to their house, to be its hostess and second mother to her younger sisters. It was her city, her home, her house.

Laura smiled through the tears that had come to her eyes.

"Surveying your domain, my queen?" rasped a voice behind her, before its source slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. Bill had returned without her noticing.

She grasped his strong forearm, squeezing its solid muscle. "Yes, yes I am."

His rich laugh reverberated through her body.

"Why did you choose San Francisco, Bill? To retire."

"You were here."

"You didn't know me yet."

"This beautiful city has always drawn me, and you are her."

She nodded, then nestled her head under his, suddenly so very tired, as though she'd walked all the way down Van Ness again, to meet a great steaming warship.


	14. Chapter 14

The black car pulled up the curb on the dark street. It kept out of the streetlight's glow.

Cavil looked through the window, checking for any passer-byers. "Okay, you know what to do?" he said to his sullen waitress slumped on the seat beside him.

"What if I'm caught?" Sharon hissed.

"Then you'll be arrested," he said coolly. "But you know I'll bail you out and pay you for your trouble."

She crossed her arms tightly. "Thanks."

"Detective Tyrol's office is that third window. You'll be able to get in?"

The young woman stared straight ahead as though she wasn't listening.

He went on. "Ellen Tigh's possessions should be in his office. Check through them and find any evidence that may link me to her."

"Surely the police know you were romancing her," said Sharon.

He chuckled. "Romance hardly had anything to do with it. I don't care if they know that. But she wasn't a prudent woman. I fear she may have left information."

"The police have had her things for a few days, right? If there's something there, they would have found it by now-you're trying to set me up!" accused Sharon.

Cavil held up his hands. "No, no. I need you on this side of the bars." His tone turned low and dangerous. "I have to know if there's anything in her things before they're returned to her husband and his snoopy friends. Those damn flatfoots didn't know what they're looking for. Tear those bags apart, look everywhere."

Afraid, Sharon reached for the car door. "All right, all right." The door ajar, she stopped. "But what if this detective catches me?"

His smirk was cruel. "Before your entry into the food service industry, you were a whore as well as a thief. I'm sure something will occur to you."

He looked over her slim figure in the black silk pajamas she wore for this particular job. "Don't worry. White men won't be seen with your kind in public, but he'll accept your favors in the night."

She scrambled out and slammed the door in his face.

When his car pulled away, Sharon slipped into the shadowy bushes and headed toward the Hall of Justice's dark windows.

Cavil instructed his driver to pull over several blocks away. Deanna Biers stepped from a bar's doorway and quickly hopped into the backseat with him.

"Well?" she asked.

"The girl's going in."

Deanna smoothed her skirt and looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Is that safe?"

"It's too dangerous to have any incriminating information fall into the wrong hands," pointed out Cavil.

"I told you that woman-"

"Yes, yes," he said, irritated. "I had my foolish choice, you have yours."

They both sighed heavily.

~~AV~~

Tyrol flipped on his office's light switch. Sharon froze by the table holding Ellen Tigh's things.

He slammed the door behind him. "What are you doing here?"

She ran to him. "Darling, I've missed you so much!"

He wrapped his arms around her. "This is crazy," he said roughly, but still began kissing her passionately.

~~AV~~

Cavil and Deanna entered one of the theaters at the World's Fair on Treasure Island. This was not part of the educational family fare; it was a review on the 'Gayway.'

The show was underway. Lovely young women, wearing nothing but cowboy hats, boots, and holsters, pranced on stage. They swirled ostrich feather fans with one hand, keeping just enough obscured to satisfy the police, and fired off pop-guns with the other, all under a banner that read: Sally Rand's Nude Ranch. In the front row, leaning between two footlights, Guy Baltar grinned up at the jiggling, pale flesh.

"This may not have been your best idea," Deanna said dryly.

"The authorities will never think to look for him here," insisted Cavil, "And Sally's a friend; she won't betray us."

"As long as she doesn't find out who we really are," pointed out Deanna when a large American flag was unfurled behind the dancing girls. All the men in the audience leapt to their feet, clapped their right hand over their hearts and began a ragged version of the Star Spangled Banner. Baltar was the only one still seated, looking around in confusion.

He spotted Cavil and Deanna and hurried up the aisle to greet them. "Thank you ever so much! This is such an inspiring location!"

"I'm sure you've gotten a great deal of work done," said Deanna cynically.

"I have, as a matter of fact," Baltar replied peevishly.

"Really?" she said, shocked. She grabbed his arm. "Let's get away from these people."

The doctor led them backstage, past curious showgirls. He exchanged greetings with many of them. Deanna kept prodding him forward.

They climbed a staircase and entered a large room. Its decor was incongruous. The walls were covered with pale orange watered silk, the floor had white shaggy carpet, and the bed was round with a shell-shaped headboard. But it also had a large laboratory table, with a bulky object under an ivory satin tablecloth.

"Where is your work?" asked Cavil, looking around in frustration.

Baltar whipped the cover off the table. "Here it is!" he said triumphantly.

Deanna slowly circled the table. "Yes, that's how it looked in Shanghai." It was a huge box, ornately decorated in Chinese characters and traditional symbols.

Cavil rocked back on his heels. "At least you've got it back together."

"I've done much more!" cried Baltar. "It works."

Cavil's eyebrows shot up. "It's operational?"

"Well, not as we want," waffled Baltar. "It's still only works in Chinese. Once I have the keys, I can adapt it to English."

"Or other languages," mused Deanna, catching Cavil's eye.

"Yes, yes, of course." Baltar flapped his hand at them. He traced the empty round spaces where the keys fit. "I could try to recreate the keys, but the possible combinations are incalculable. I might get it right first time, or it could be the ten millionth combination."

"We must get that bracelet," Deanna hissed at Cavil.

"It might be easier than expected. I now have a way to personally access the Roslin mansion," Cavil said smugly.

"What do you mean?" Deanna turned her back on the doctor; he was fiddling with a control on the device.

"The Lychee Club has been offered the catering job at Laura Adams' upcoming charity ball," said Cavil.

Deanna shook her head. "Surely it's a trap."

"I'm not so sure." Cavil pursed his mouth. "If they suspect us, why haven't I been questioned again by the police? The one detective removed that bullet from my wall, asked if I recognized the gunman, and left. Nothing more."

"So it's worth the risk?"

"We have to take that risk," insisted Cavil.

Deanna thought for a moment. "I'll make sure I'm there too," she said, a plan forming. "Henry Burns from the embassy, his wife is on the charity ball's committee. I'll think of some suitable sob story that will ensure an invitation is soon forthcoming. Surely between the two of us, we can get that damn bracelet."

"What about me?" Baltar had come up behind them.

"No!" Deanna spat at him. "You stay out of sight!"

"But I can be of help-"

Cavil smirked. "No, stay here with your little friends, Doctor." He took Deanna's arm. "Come along, my dear. We have to go over our plan."

When the door closed behind them, Baltar kicked the lab table leg in frustration, then grabbed the device to steady it. "Bloody hell," he grumbled.

The door opened again. His new friend, Jeanne, sashayed in, her short kimono wrap barely covering her rear end.

"Guy, baby, are you still messin' around with that box?" She wrinkled her pert little nose in discontent.

Baltar quickly flipped the cover back over it. "All gone!" Advancing on her, his arms outstretched, his face was lit up with excitement.

She dodged him and flopped herself before her vanity mirror. "Hon, just give me a minute to take the warpaint off, 'kay?"

"Of course, my dear," he grumbled. Finding a newspaper, he lounged on the bed, kicking off his shoes. He quickly skimmed the pages, glancing up at her every few seconds.

Then his eye was caught by a name in the society column. _The Adams will be hosting a charity ball for Mrs Adams' school for wayward Chinese girls-_

He quickly checked the list of attendees. One name jumped off the page-Cynthia Capra. He leapt up and pushed past Jeanne. She'd come to stand by the bed and was slipping her robe off.

"I'll be right back," he said, ignoring her pout.

In the hall, he waited impatiently behind a line of under-dressed showgirls for the telephone to be free.

Cynthia was the daughter of a wealthy industrialist alumni of Stanford University. Baltar had attended a soiree at the Capra house, and had been immediately smitten with the tall, sophisticated blonde. He'd be a fool to not be entranced by any woman who dragged him upstairs to her bedroom for a bit of slap and tickle within an hour of meeting. Soon afterwards, he'd met Deanna and hadn't found the time to see Cynthia again.

The showgirl who'd been yakking away on the phone finally rang off. Baltar took the receiver from her. This may be a delicate conversation...

~~AV~~

The morning fog still lay heavily on the hills surrounding the Roslin mansion. Standing in the front door, Laura watched Bill and Saul get into the staid black undertaker's car. She raised her hand in a half-hearted wave and Bill returned the gesture. Then he pulled his black Homburg down lower over his grim face and the car drove off.

She'd offered to come, but Bill explained that Saul preferred she not. Before she could be hurt, he told her: "He's gonna cry and blubber and he doesn't want you to see that."

"Of course not," she murmured, instantly grateful to miss this display.

Closing the door, she wandered across the foyer. She didn't expect them back for hours. It was to be a graveside service just over the hill in the Laurel Hill cemetery but she imagined Saul would want to toast his lost wife in every bar and saloon between there and the house.

Before she got very far, however, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," she called out, hoping to save poor Old Jaffee some steps.

When she opened the door, the plainclothes policeman from the Tighs' hotel room was standing on her stoop. He looked surprised.

"Mrs Adams, how are you?" he said.

"Oh, hello," Laura said cautiously, hanging on the heavy door. "Detective?" she hazarded a guess.

"Officer Laird, Ma'am."

He was holding Ellen's suitcases and a few bags, and the weight was obviously taxing on him.

"Oh, please, come in," Laura said.

"Thank you, Ma'am." Laird passed her and then stood in the foyer, gobsmacked at its gleaming marble floors and soaring ceiling with the stained glass domed skylight far above.

Laura closed the door. "What may I help you with?"

The Jaffees appeared and hovered discretely.

"We are returning Mrs Tigh's things to Mr Tigh, Ma'am."

The Jaffees glided forward and quickly relieved the officer of the cases and bags.

"Please take those to Mr Adams' study," Laura instructed the father and son. Then she showed the blushing policeman out.

She thanked the Jaffees as they left the study. After they disappeared through the servant door, she loitered in the foyer, shifting from foot to foot. She peeked over her shoulder at the front door as though she expected Bill to come through it.

When he didn't, she scurried in a rather undignified fashion toward his study. Slipping around the door, she clicked the lock and moved to the table.

Really, she wasn't snooping, she told herself as she eased open the suitcase. She was investigating.

Laura instantly recoiled as the strong odor of Ellen's perfume escaped the closed-up box. The clothing was not quite as neat as she'd witnessed that pleasant Officer Laird fold them, evidence that one other or more policemen had searched through Ellen's belongings.

Laura looked around her, guiltily again, then finally took the plunge and reached into the case. She nudged at the pale pink chiffon evening gown that lay on top with one finger. It slipped to one side, allowing her to view the next piece of clothing: a dark pink silk blouse. She pushed that blouse aside to reveal a summer frock. Her nose screwed up when she saw it was a pink and white check print.

Deciding to forget about propriety, she removed each article of clothing one at a time until the map table was draped in a multitude of different shades of pink.

"Maybe I could almost call this one apricot," she murmured when she first shook, then checked the pockets of a day jacket, eventually tossing it onto the pile when she found nothing.

At the bottom of the case, she found Ellen's 'special' underwear. Just as Bill had pointed out, they were all monogrammed with Ellen's initials, and they were all, of course, pink.

Once the suitcase was empty, she turned it upside down and gave it a brisk shake to ensure nothing was caught beneath the cardboard base.

She sighed with dissatisfaction at coming up empty handed after her unauthorized inspection.

Laura shoved the garish underwear back into the case in a haphazard fashion. Her attention too, when folding the the remainder of Ellen's clothing, was cursory at the most. From now on, Saul would be clutching at, and sleeping with, the pink materials. Probably starting tonight; he wouldn't notice the odd crush here and there.

She snapped the case shut and removed a pink velvet-covered jewelry box of Ellen's treasures from a paper bag.

Lowering herself onto the couch, she tucked her legs up under her and pulled out the box's contents one by one, placing them on the low coffee table before her.

A small collection of jewelry: three pairs of sparkly earrings, one green, two clear paste diamonds; a necklace of fake pearls; two gold-plated bracelets. Ellen hadn't bothered to invest in real gems. There were no rings, she noted. Had Ellen ever worn a wedding ring? She would have to find a subtle way to ask Bill.

Still nothing helpful to their case. That left Ellen's handbag. A woman's handbag was a window into her soul. Laura unsnapped the clasp on the faux alligator clutch. There had been several other bags in her suitcase, but this had been her choice on the fatal night.

Again, the scent of the dead woman's perfume; a fine linen monogrammed handkerchief was saturated in it. Putting that aside, Laura rummaged further. A gold compact, engraved, _to my love_. Laura hoped that meant it was from Saul. A red leather coin purse with just a few coins; a woman used to someone else picking up the tab. Her tortoiseshell comb-this was real and fine quality. No cigarettes or lighter; again, she would expect someone else to offer.

A lipstick. She opened the tube and check the color. Pink, of course. But Laura actually liked the shade. She wiggled the tube out of its gold-plated case to see what it was called. A small object fell out of the case. Prodding between the couch cushions, she carefully retrieved it.

It was a tiny glass capsule...empty. But was emblazoned with a red skull and crossbones. Laura's eyes widened in shock. Was this what she feared?


	15. Chapter 15

Laura was pacing in her study when she finally heard the front door open. She hurried to the doorway. Bill was handing off Saul to the Jaffees. The three men then began the ascent of the swooping staircase, a motley sight, with one young strong man trying to support his aged father and their slumping, blubbering charge.

Bill watched until they were on the landing. Laura took the opportunity to observe him. She could tell he was drunk too. He was swaying slightly, the knees on his black suit were mud-stained and his maroon tie hung from his jacket pocket. He sensed her gaze and turned to her, eyes downcast in shame. She smiled gently and beckoned for him to join her.

"Get over here, silly man."

Even as he stepped into her embrace, he was grumbling. "No shape to be around you."

"Sickness and health, remember?" she told him. After tugging off his jacket and tossing it aside, she led him to the sofa.

He sat heavily. "Bein' loaded is sickness?"

"I hope not." She went to the intercom on her desk and quietly requested coffee.

"We sorta drank our way home," he confessed.

"I expected you would."

He harrumphed. "I'm predictable already?"

She sank down beside him on the cushion. "I know you're a good friend."

He picked up her hand and rubbed the back with his thumb. "Listen, Saul wants to move on and I think it's a good thing."

"I hope the excuse I gave to Detective Tyrol for being at the doctor's apartment didn't lead him to believe he's not welcome here," she protested.

He shook his head. "Nah. He just doesn't want to impose."

"There's plenty of room-"

He lolled his head back to stare at the elaborately plastered ceiling. "Yeah. It's just not his sorta place."

Her heart caught in her throat. "Are you happy here?"

He quickly looked over at her. "Of course! You're here."

"If you ever want to move into something...simpler, we could do that," she said carefully. "My home is where you are."

He only chuckled and squeezed her hand.

"You're a good friend to Saul, Bill." She pressed his hand back. "I wish I had a friend like you."

He looked at her again, surprised. "You do-me."

Laying her head on his shoulder, she gave him a tender smile. "We have a different sort of friendship."

He grinned and leaned over to kiss her-Old Jaffee entered with the coffee. Sighing, Laura gently pushed her husband back and accepted the cup from the butler. Bill frowned, but took his cup.

"You have plenty of friends. There's the ladies from your charity work-"

She raised her eyebrows. "I hope you don't think I would confide anything to those women you met yesterday."

Bill took a huge gulp of coffee, as if it would instantly expel the memory of those women along with all the alcohol from his system.

"There used to be the girls," Laura said, taking a sip at her own coffee in an effort to steady her suddenly shaky voice.

He looked at her desk, where the photos of her sisters and father were prominently displayed. One day soon, he would get her to tell him the whole story about her family. And he'd tell her about his sons and former wife, photographs he'd seen her look at but had not asked about. But now wasn't the time; not with her current mood. Even his drink-addled mind could tell that he had to bring the subject around to happier things.

"There's Elosha," he pointed out. "And Emily. Those two take their job of guarding you very seriously."

Laura placed her coffee to one side, stretched out on the couch and lay her head down onto Bill's lap. "That's just it," she said with a sigh. "Elosha and Emily are the only female friends I have. Yet every week I write out a check for them.

"Elosha's been here since I was a small child," Laura continued as Bill soothingly stroked her hair. "But where else would she go now? She has one married brother with eight children. They have no room for an elderly relative. I attended Mills with Emily; we were great chums. After we were finished with school, an unfortunate situation with her husband forced her to seek out employment. She still has two daughters to feed. At the end of the day I'm their employer. Would they still be here if all this," her hand swept in a circle, "disappeared."

"Did you ever think they may be your friends despite your money, not because of it?"

She rolled onto her back so she could look right up into his loving gaze. "You don't think that's sad? That the only people I like and would confide in are people I pay?" She lay her hand over his heart.

He returned to smoothing her hair back. "Not me. From now on, it's gonna be different." His words were so confident and frustrating to Laura. He said something and it just _was._

"I think Ellen was trying to kill me," she whispered.

Bill's hand froze. "What?"

Laura scrambled up. She'd folded a piece of paper around the empty capsule and now showed it to Bill.

He retrieved his glasses from his jacket pocket and peered at the capsule. "Where did you find this?"

"Hidden in Ellen's purse."

"And the police didn't find it?"

"Apparently not. It was secured in one of her cosmetics." Laura folded her arms and began to pace slowly. "And I remember Ellen doing her makeup at the table."

She shuddered. She found it so tacky when women freshened their makeup in public, other than a discreet lipstick touch-up on the street.

"So she could have taken out this capsule and slipped poison in your drink?" Bill mused.

"Yes...but why would she drink that martini?" Laura furrowed her brow. "Ellen Tigh never struck me as the suicidal sort."

Bill went and closed the study's door. He returned to his wife and spoke low. "Saul told me he'd killed Ellen."

Laura looked at him with shock.

"He meant that he'd given her the fateful drink."

Laura's eyes widened. "She asked for her drink-"

Bill nodded. "And bein' lit himself, he must've mixed up which martini was hers."

"Oh, darling." Laura grabbed his arm and pulled Bill down to the couch with her. "What shall we do? We can't possibly tell Saul the truth...or that his wife was obviously a part of this scheme to secure my bracelet."

Bill set his lips in a harsh line. "It'd kill 'im."

"All the more reason for us to solve this crime and control the information available to the police."

Surprised, Bill looked at his steely-eyed wife. He often had to remind himself that she was a tough businesswoman beneath the lovely exterior. In three short weeks, he'd learned not to underestimate her.

She fluttered her hand. "Ellen's role doesn't matter. Stopping these people does."

"Yep." He draped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. "Thanks, honey."

"Jonathan Cavil will be here at three o'clock. We need to determine his role in this scheme."

"What the hell?" erupted from Bill.

"I told you we were hiring him," Laura said with condescending patience.

"But coming to the house?" He turned her to face him on the couch. "What if I hadn't been home yet?"

"I would have handled that little man-"

"Must I remind you I was shot at when I broke into his club?"

She ignored his aggravation and continued cheerfully. "Mr Cavil will be here in an hour. You better get cleaned up."

Gritting his teeth, Bill stood.

"Darling, how did you get mud on your pants?" Laura asked.

He looked down at his grubby clothing. "Uh...Saul sorta...he jumped into the grave."

Cringing, Laura was grateful she had not attended the ceremony.

~~AV~~

Laura sat behind her desk, quietly working on some figures with Emily.

She tried to ignore her husband who, since returning from his shower, drifted aimlessly around the room. Bill had sufficiently recovered from his jaunt with his best pal in time to attend her meeting with Jonathan Cavil. However, he wasn't clearheaded enough to find an activity that held his attention for more than a minute while they were waiting for the suspicious night club owner's arrival.

Laura almost shouted with relief when Old Jaffee ushered the Number One Lychee Club's manager into the study.

If at all possible, Jonathan Cavil looked older and even more diminutive today, dressed completely in black, from his suit to his dress shirt and tie, almost as though he were trying to blend into the shadows. Laura stood and offered her hand politely, expecting the lightest of shakes, befitting his status as the hired help. Mr Cavil took it but raised to his mouth, stooping before her in an overly submissive manner. His lips didn't touch her skin but his breath was hot on the back of her hand.

Suppressing a shudder while trying to ignore Bill's hiss of discontent, she impatiently waved the club owner up, irritated with his false enthusiasm.

"You may remember my husband?" she said as Bill quickly came to her side.

Bill's demeanour was suddenly one of absolute sobriety; his stance alert.

"Yes," Cavil gave Bill an effeminate handshake, and his gaze didn't quite meet the bigger man's inquiring one. "How do you do."

"Allow me to show you the ballroom," Laura said briskly, striding from the study before her husband could start something. Cavil followed two paces behind her and Bill brought up the rear.

They entered the huge ballroom, the parquet floor gleaming under eight crystal chandeliers. A row of Palladium windows along the outer wall looked out over the city and bay. At night, the city's lights seemed to have been strung as decorations just for Laura's parties.

As Laura was going over details for the party, young Jaffee appeared at her shoulder, his face showing agitation. "Yes, Jaffee?" she asked.

"Ma'am, if you please," he murmured, his eyes shifting toward the doorway.

Realizing this may be the opportunity they needed, Laura excused herself, leaving the two men alone.

Jaffee led her to the kitchen. A standoff appeared to be taking place. Her staff were lined up on one side of the room, arms crossed. Along the other, two Oriental men and a woman stood.

"What's going on here?" Laura asked Berta, the big-boned Swedish woman who was cook that day.

"Those yellow bastards-"

Laura shook her head at Berta.

"We only wished to see what equipment we must supply for the party," explained the young woman.

Laura looked closely at her.

Without the exotic makeup from the club and dressed in a simple dark suit rather than the tight dress, Laura could recognize her. "Sharon?" she asked.

"Yes," the young woman said warily.

"Sharon Vu?"

"Yes."

Turning to her staff, Laura ordered them to help the Club Lychee staff in any way necessary. She led Sharon out of the kitchen.

Lowering her voice, she addressed the young woman. "Sharon, I'm surprised to see you doing this sort of work. At the school, you were one of the best students. I had such high hopes that you would find respectable employment-"

Sharon squared her shoulders. "I am a waitress; that is legal."

Laura flushed. "We placed you as a secretary-"

"Many men assume their secretaries will provide more than dictation when they have a past such as mine."

"If only you'd contacted the school, we could have found you another position-"

Staring at the pointed toes of her pumps, Sharon shook her head. "I have found my own way, Miss Roslin."

"As you wish," Laura said slowly, still feeling she'd somehow failed her former student.

"Please-" Sharon's dark eyes flashed at her when she raised her gaze. "Please do not tell Mr Cavil about my past-"

"You have nothing to be ashamed of-"

"It is not that. It is for your safety-"

Laura quickly grabbed Sharon's arm. "What do you know?"

Sharon yanked her arm back. "Nothing, nothing," she hissed, looking over her shoulder fearfully. She hurried back to the kitchen, leaving Laura frustrated.

~~AV~~

Bill watched Cavil scribbling precise notes about the number of guests and amount of food and drink on a tiny notepad with a small gold pen. Their visitor had been a cool customer, all business. Not once had he suggested he recognized Bill from his fire escape.

And Bill was fine with that. He preferred to wait for their enemies to lead them to the truth.

"It will truly be a night to remember," enthused Cavil.

Bill folded his arms. When he tucked his hands under his armpits, his biceps bulged in his snug cashmere sweater. He smiled. "Yep," he agreed.

Cavil's own smile became fixed and he turned away.

~~AV~~

Richard Adair's wife had a dreary low voice, like wind passing through dried corn husks. She'd been speaking for a while now over their supper, and he'd made the appropriate noises to suggest he'd been paying attention.

Then he heard Laura Adams' name.

His fork froze halfway to his mouth. "What?" he barked.

Myrtle Adair's gaze darted to their daughters' bowed heads. "Tone, dear."

"I'm sorry," Richard said quickly. "You were saying?"

"I've secured two tickets to Mrs Adams' soiree this weekend."

"Why would you want to go to that sort of party?" He carefully laid his fork, food uneaten, on his plate. "That charity isn't quite nice, you know."

His wife's pale eyes became sharp. "You know about this ball?"

He avoided answering directly. "I know of the school. It claims to reform girls who've-"

Myrtle's thin lips pursed.

"It's just not a very nice sort of thing," he said lamely.

Their daughters' exchanged smirks but kept steadily eating small bites of food.

"Just so," Myrtle said briskly. "But there's your career to be thought of. You must be seen in the best places-"

"Mrs Adams is currently embroiled in the middle of a murder investigation. Her home is the last place we should be seen," insisted Richard.

"No, my dear," his wife said in that familiar tone that should not be broached, "That's exactly where the district attorney should be seen."


	16. Chapter 16

Laura peeked into Bill's dressing room. At first she thought it was empty, then she spotted her husband in one corner. His new suits and dress shirts hung neatly on one rod, his sweaters were stacked on one shelf, his shoes lined up on the shoe rack.

Wearing his brown robe, his bare feet in fuzzy grey wool slippers, not the velvet ones that matched the robe Saul now wore, Bill was tentatively selecting items for evening dress. She knew he was still learning all the necessary accouterments. She'd purposely made the ball black tie to save him from wearing the 'penguin suit' as he called white tie and tails.

"You should really get a man who would lay all this out for you," she said gently.

He peered over his shoulder. "A man?"

"A gentleman's gentleman."

He snorted. "I'm no gentleman."

She wrapped her arms around his waist. "You're the finest gentleman I know."

He released a pleased sound but then sighed. "So this starched shirtfront, I hold it in place with a tack?"

Pleased, she squeezed him. "Yes, and you can use one of my father's. How about a lovely diamond?"

He laughed outright. "Got a sapphire to match my eyes?"

"As a matter of fact, I do-" She let go of him, and was headed toward her room to fetch the tack, when he caught her hand.

"Oh, baby, you shower me with gems," he teased as he pulled her into his arms.

She tried to point out the practical. "They're just going to waste in my father's old jewelry box. You might as well use them."

"Show me how to put this monkey suit together first," he said, turning back to the racks with a sigh.

"Bill, dear," Laura said as she quickly found a pair of black hose, the garters for them, fresh underpants and undershirt, mentally dressing him from the skin outward, "why are you keeping everything in one corner like this?"

He harrumphed. "My old quarters on my last vessel was smaller than this dressing room." He patted one of the shelves. "Could have been my old bunk."

Flipping through the suits, he noted, "Had two suits my whole life. The blue one and the brown one. Now gotta keep track of all this."

Again Laura was visited by the sense of dread that their lives weren't meshing. "If it all makes you uncomfortable, you can go back to two suits. Truly-"

He grinned at her. "Nah. This old dog has to learn some new tricks. Never would have dreamed my life could change so much in a few days, but that comes at a price."

His mood changed as he examined with alarm the finely woven socks draped over her arm. Then he squared his shoulders and sat on the room's chair. Pulling his foot from his scruffy slipper, he wiggled his toes at her. "Got no man, but how about being this gentleman's lady for the night?"

Dropping to her knees before him, her smile was seductive. "I think I can give good service." Her fingertips slid up his calf and under his robe's hem, garnering a gasping chuckle.

Down the hallway, another lady was having even more difficulty with her gentleman.

"Mr Saul, you ain't got nothin' I haven't seen a thousand times before," Elosha said, advancing upon Tigh. He cowered in a corner of his smaller room, clutching the purple robe across his narrow chest.

"I can dress myself!"

Elosha glanced at the evening dress laid out on the narrow bed and back to him, raising her eyebrows skeptically.

"It's just clothes!" blustered Saul.

She took another step closer. Wily, she pointed out: "You don't want to embarrass Mr Adams. Got to look right. And you need to be ready to help him with this ``foolishness."

Her mouth set in a thin line. That's was all she was going to say about this hare-brained idea to catch cold-blooded killers on their own. All she knew was, she was going to spend the evening within one stride of the telephone, ready to call the police.

"Come on, Mr Saul. You've got your underclothes on, don't you?"

He nodded wordlessly.

"Then off with that robe and let's get you in evening clothes. Mr Adams wishes to see you as soon as you're ready."

"All right, all right," Saul fussed, undoing the robe. Elosha held out the crisp white shirt and he slipped his arms into the sleeves, ending up in her awkward embrace. He kept his arms wrapped tight, trapping her there. Her body was warm and soft. He missed the scent of a woman-

The maid's rich voice was reproachful: "Mr Saul, now, you're not thinkin' something foolish, are you?"

Ducking his head in shame, he quickly released her. "Of course not."

She moved back to the bed and handed him the pants. "That's good. I'll let you put these on all the same."

~~AV~~

When Laura entered her room, Elosha wasn't waiting, ready to dress her, as was her maid's usual practice before such a party.

She paced the room for a moment before deciding to take this opportunity to deliver the tack to Bill. She knew better than to dress without her old nanny's assistance.

She carefully removed her father's jewelry box from the small personal safe behind a painting on the wall. Sitting on her bed, she studied the three tacks with gemstones that had been Edgar Roslin's favorites: a clear diamond he'd purchased direct from the South African mine Uncle Harold had shares in; a light, almost pink, ruby that Shreve and Company had sourced from Asia; and the sapphire, which had been sent to the United States from Australia.

She studied the sapphire for a moment. It was a deep dark shade of blue. She imagined Bill's light lazuline eyes could bring out its intensity. She smiled; her husband could add sparkle to any precious stone. Still, she also put aside a simple gold stud in case he found the gem tack too ostentatious.

She replaced the box and removed the fateful bracelet from the safe's depths. It was going to be the proverbial carrot tonight. Hopefully, they would quickly prove Saul's innocence without revealing too much unsavory information about his wife, and this whole messy business would be behind them. Perhaps she and Bill could be enjoying their honeymoon by the end of the week.

She sashayed back down the hallway, wondering if Bill had recovered from their intimacies enough to be fully dressed yet.

As she reached Bill's room, she paused. Her hand froze on the door handle when she distinctly heard Bill using an authoritative tone she found unusual. Who could he be speaking with so seriously? She frowned, clearly hearing her own name mentioned.

She swept open the door and entered without knocking or announcing herself.

Bill and Saul, in their tuxedos, and young Jaffee, all jumped guiltily at her sudden intrusion. From the grim looks on their faces, she doubted they were discussing Jaffee possibly becoming the master's valet.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Nothing you need to worry about, dear. We were just sorting out some things."

"What sort of things?" she demanded, placing her hands on her hips. The action made her bracelet jangle, drawing the men's eyes to her arm. She followed their gazes. "You have a plan for tonight?"

"Yeah," Bill said evasively.

"Well?"

Bill sighed and studied the floor for a moment. Saul cleared his throat and fiddled with his cuff links. Jaffee's eyes nervously darted between Bill, Laura and the bracelet.

"Well, when I give you the signal," Bill finally gave in to her glare, "you should pretend the clasp of the bracelet has broken."

Laura thought for a moment before answering. "I'll need to make a song and dance about it," she decided eventually. "All the players will need to know this is their big chance."

"Yeah. I was going to suggest acting the spoiled heiress. Can you do that?"

She glared at him, undecided if he was deliberately baiting her or not. "If you say I'll be a natural, you may find yourself in some trouble, Mr Adams," she replied between gritted teeth.

He chuckled and dared to come closer to drop a brief kiss on her mouth, which remained stubbornly set.

"Then?" she asked.

"Then, you call Jaffee over. Ask him to take the bracelet to my study and place it in one of my desk drawers. You ask your husband if he can take it into the jewellers to be repaired on Monday."

"Then?"

"Then we'll take it from there."

"We?"

"Jaffee, Saul and me."

She crossed her arms. "Really."

"Yes. Saul will be hiding in study, waiting for someone to show up. Jaffee will go out to hide in the bushes outside and I will be watching the door. The trap will snap shut on whoever tries to steal the bracelet. Simple."

"Really," she repeated.

He ran his hand across her back. "Trust us on this, Laura, and just play your role," he said, almost pleading.

First, she pressed the sapphire into his palm. Then she spun on her heel. "I need to get dressed."

He called after her, "want help?" hoping to find a way back into her good graces, preferably something along the lines of her 'helping' him dress for the evening.

She whirled back around to face him. Clutching her satin robe under her chin, she glared down her nose at him. "No," she said sharply, then stomped out and slammed the door.

Saul came up and squeezed Bill's shoulder, stopping him from following. "Gotta protect your woman, Bill," he said, his voice full of pain. "Whether she wants it or not."

~~AV~~

Doctor Baltar waited at the door of Cynthia Capra's Greenwich Street pied a terre. He'd rung the bell three times with no answer and now waited, nervously smoking a cigarette.

The door finally swung open. An Oriental manservant looked the doctor over dispassionately. "Yes," he finally murmured.

"I'm Doctor Baltar. Here for Miss Capra." Baltar tossed the cigarette into the clipped shrub by the door.

The servant watched the tip flare and die, distaste bright in his eyes for a moment. He slowly returned his gaze to the doctor. "You will come this way, please."

Baltar stepped over the threshold into the black and white marble-tiled foyer. The servant took his hat and overcoat, motioning for Baltar to go through a set of open doors into a salon.

Cynthia rose from a low cream-colored sofa and glided toward her guest. "Guy, darling!" Her lips pressed and lingered on his cheek; one hand slid across his chest and under his dinner jacket's lapel to press against the heat of his body. "How lovely to see you again," she murmured in his ear.

His heart rate immediately quickened. "Same here!" he gushed.

He'd forgotten what a crackingly hot little number she was. Or rather, a very tall number, all long legs and arms, reminding him fleetingly of a praying mantis. She drew him with her to the sofa.

"Shouldn't we be going?" He was taut with nervous energy.

She gave a tinkling laugh. "Oh Guy, we couldn't possibly be on time! How gauche! Leave that for the earnest do-gooders that actually care about those chink whores."

The servant appeared silently beside them. Cynthia, completely unruffled, accepted a drink from the tray he offered. "Martini?" she said.

He thought fleetingly of the dead woman from the Lychee Club, but took the cocktail, giving a quavering smile as thanks to the manservant who bowed his head and melted from the room.

Baltar made certain the man was gone, then shuffled closer to Cynthia on the couch. She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

"Dearest," he muttered, "I must take you into my confidence."

She looked mildly intrigued. Not a great deal of excitement came into her life; Guy Baltar had been the highlight so far for the social butterfly. "What is it?"

He lowered his voice more, and she was forced to lean so close her ear was nearly pressed to his mouth. She still managed to drain her glass.

"I'm on a mission tonight. You've already done me a great service by gaining me entree into this function."

Cynthia raised one artfully drawn eyebrow. "A mission?"

He pressed his finger to her bright red lips. "Hush, my dear. This is of vital importance."

"Does it have anything to do with your disappearance?" she said coolly. "Because I really thought we were having some good times, Guy."

He put his drink down on the glass-topped table beside the sofa. "I enjoyed our encounters immensely, my dear. But some things are more important than good times."

She drained his glass too. "Nothing is more important than a good time," she said wickedly.

"The fate of the free world!" he announced, forgetting to lower his voice.

Her only response was to raise both eyebrows this time.

"So there wasn't another woman?"

He thought quickly. "You are the only woman for me," he assured her, pressing her cool, long hands between his.

Gracing him with a smile, she leaned back on the sofa. "You're sweet, Guy."

Trying to bring the topic back to the matter at hand, he settled back on the cushion beside her. "Cynthia, this truly is important. For this evening, I will be Archie Leach. Do not use my real name."

She burst out laughing. "What?"

Huffing, Baltar sat up straight. "The Adams cannot know who I am. It's a matter of life or death."

"Good God, what has that silly woman gotten herself into now?" sneered Cynthia.

"Mrs Adams..." Baltar said leadingly.

She held up her hand. "Please. Mrs Adams indeed. Some roughneck she picked up on the docks like she's a common hooker. Which I suppose is appropriate, considering her charities. A real lady of her social standing doesn't associate with that sort of common man," spit out Cynthia, seemingly ignoring her own adventures with the doctor.

The vitriol continued. "I assume he's got some special...gift...she couldn't resist." Cynthia leaned closer to Baltar and he tipped his head. He must learn all he could about his targets. "Everyone knows she's loose, but at her age-it's just pathetic. And the way she dresses...so undignified. She should dress like my mother, not me." She smoothed her skirt so the slit fell open to reveal her thin legs.

Her sharp gaze turned on Baltar. "Has she tried to seduce you, Guy?"

"Me?" he squeaked. "I haven't even-" He tried to think, but nothing came to his mind, hypnotized by Cynthia's mesmerizing eyes.

She traced her fingernail down his rigid starched shirtfront. "That sort of woman is dangerous-"

"Exactly," he breathed. He could hardly wait to arrive at Mrs Adams' home. Would she be a sort of Mata Hari, pulling men into her web to use in her despicable plans? He certainly hoped so-

"Guy!" cracked in his ear like a whip.

He blinked rapidly. "Yes, Mother...I mean, Cynthia?"

She was frowning. "Do you think she's prettier than me?"

"Dearest, I haven't met her," he protested.

"Then why are you so insistent on going tonight?" She rose and glared down at him. "Are you using me just to see this woman?"

He hopped up and grabbed her arms, holding her fast. Her muscles were tight under his palms. "No, of course not! But you are the only one I can trust, Cynthia. This is vitally important and I need you desperately-"

She smirked.

He swiped his dry lips with his tongue. "I won't even look at this Adams woman, I swear."

Tossing back her Cloroxed hair, Cynthia smiled. "Nor should you. I was worried there for a bit, Guy, that you had some mother fixation." Her lips twisted cruelly. "That woman's situation is terribly funny; that dirty old sailor picking her free of every dime she has. I'm more than happy to attend this event and see the show."

Sagging with relief, Baltar lay his head on her shoulder. "Yes, I'm sure it will be a very entertaining evening."

Briskly, she pushed him off. "I must touch up my face. Wait for me in the foyer."

Baltar found the manservant waiting, his coat held outstretched for him to slip into. He nodded thanks. "Could you call us a cab, please," he asked quietly.

With another bow of his head, the servant moved to the phone and spoke low in it. The doctor lit a cigarette, puffing anxiously. A show indeed. He just hoped he would be the leading man, not the chap knocked off in the first act.


	17. Chapter 17

Laura stepped out of her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Bill was waiting, his hands in his pockets. He rocked back on his heels, trying to gauge her mood. When she spotted him, her expression tightened.

"You look lovely," he offered sincerely. He cocked his head, taking in her shimmering silver sheath, admiring the way it sleekly hugged her curves. He happily contemplated how few undergarments she must be wearing. But that would have to be for later... He forced his eyes up to hers.

"Thank you," she said coolly

Below the landing, the band's rehearsing wafted upward. He began swaying unconsciously.

She looked away, trying not to smile.

"Did I get this tack right?" he asked, poking at his rigid shirtfront. "Wouldn't want it to pop out and have my bib roll up like a Bugs Bunny cartoon."

She had to giggle. "Yes, this looks right." She ran her fingertips along the stiff white fabric, assuring it was held in place.

He captured her hand. "Dance with me."

"I suppose we need to practice our performance." She drifted into his arms, but kept her gaze over his shoulder.

"I'm always willing to practice my performance." Bill twirled her, pulling her closer.

She gave him her most wicked glare, but allowed her hips to sway in time with his.

~~AV~~

The party was in full swing.

Billy Keikeya stood near the alcove that housed the band, feeling very awkward and large in the dinner jacket Mrs Adams had arranged to be delivered to him at the Examiner. He tried to shuffle and sway as if he was merely enjoying the music, but he had the grace of a ostrich dancing on a hot rock.

He rarely danced; the need to stoop down to his partner's height made the entire experience uncomfortable. Although, he thought, the statuesque woman who had just stepped onto the dance floor could make things less difficult. In her heels, she could probably reach his shoulders at least.

Billy caught the blonde's profile as she swung in her much shorter partner's arms: Cynthia Capra. There was no point in hoping for a dance with her. She only danced with men who could become a thorn in her daddy's side.

He was surprised to see her here. She usually avoided places that her father approved of. If old man Capra found out his wayward daughter was attending the same party as the District Attorney, he might hold out hope for her yet.

The young reporter slipped a notepad and pencil out from the pocket of his jacket, jotting down her name with a question mark beside it. Her dancing partner, a small man who had overdone the Brylcreem in his unfashionably long hair, was no one he was familiar with.

Billy's gaze swept across the room and focused on his hostess. Her bracelet glittered enticingly against the pale skin of her wrist as she mingled amongst the various guests.

She was safe for the moment. Mr Adams had his arm firmly around her waist as they came face to face with the District Attorney and his wife.

Myrtle Adair's wealth was only slightly less than Mrs Adams' but that was where the similarities ended.

Billy could just imagine the uncomfortable small talk and prolonged silences as the quartet tried to remain polite.

~~AV~~

On the other side of the ballroom, another man removed a notepad from his pocket discreetly.

Not too discreetly. Emily came up beside him.

"What publication are you with?" she asked crisply.

Peter Laird jumped. He stalled. "I'm sorry..."

"Are you with a newspaper? One of the radio shows? _Town and Country_?"

"Oh, sorry." Laird smiled charmingly. "I"m a freelancer."

The secretary narrowed her eyes at him. "I think you should go-"

He fumbled in his pocket and removed a ticket. "I paid to be here, Mrs-"

"Miss," she said grimly. "If you're disruptive, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

He smiled. His rugged charm made Emily melt slightly. "You can toss me out personally."

She held in a laugh.

He glanced back at the couple of the tall blonde woman and her shorter companion. "Could you help me?"

"It depends."

"I'm sort of new at this. Used to be on the crime beat." He tipped his head toward the dancer. "Who's she?"

"Cynthia Capra," Emily said shortly.

Her companion scribbled in his notepad. "A friend of yours?"

"Certainly not. I'm Mrs Adams' secretary," Emily snapped, smoothing her hand down her gown's satin skirt. Elosha had skillfully adapted one of Laura's old dresses for her. She'd felt so pretty when she'd donned it earlier in the evening. Now, comparing it to Cynthia Capra's glittering ensemble, she felt like a toddler playing dress up with her mother's clothes.

Laird blinked at her. "You are? I never would have guessed."

She gave him a withering look. "You're going to need more experience before you'll be a successful society writer, Mr-"

He smoothly changed the topic. "She's the daughter of Ernesto Capra, the shipping magnate?"

"Yes," she replied, shaking her head to clear the memories of when she had been able to afford lovely clothes, not handmedowns. Memories of a time when men asked her to dance instead of pumping her for information. "I can't believe she's here though."

"Why? This is the party to be seen at tonight. The cream of society are all here. Makes sense that the daughter of one of the city's richest men would be in attendance."

"Cynthia Capra is always careful not to attend the same events as Mrs Adams. Ever since the punchbowl incident, she's avoided her."

He furrowed his brow in confusion, but decided to plow on.

"Are they enemies?"

Concerned how this may appear in print, Emily shook her head. "Nothing of the kind. Just two very different ladies with different pursuits and interests. For Cynthia Capra to actually make the deliberate decision to purchase a ticket for tonight's ball is very unusual indeed."

"What about her companion? Could he have bought the tickets?"

"I suppose it's a possibility. Although I can't say I know him. He certainly isn't anyone who runs in Mrs Adams' crowd."

"Mr Adams then? Could he be friends with him?"

"I'm not sure if I can cope with any more of Mr Adams' friends." Emily repressed a shudder.

She glanced around the room. Some young ladies were becoming wallflowers. It was time to roust a few of the more acceptable young gentlemen from the smoking room. "If you'll excuse me-"

Laird nodded. "Of course." He smiled, his eyes crinkling in a very attractive way. But when he straightened his bow tie self-consciously, Emily saw his wedding ring. She sighed inside. Of course.

His smile only warmed. "Thank you so much for your help."

She allowed herself to smile in reply before melting into the crowd, unnoticed.

~~AV~~

Sharon's arm was bent backwards, expertly holding a tray of drinks. Her eyes darted around the ballroom as she wandered amongst the guests, checking if the household's occupants were present.

The Adamses were chatting with another couple. The widower and another older gentleman were squabbling near the bar. While in the kitchen earlier, Sharon had managed to insinuate herself with one of the gardeners who'd come in for a cold drink. He'd told her the old Negress was always close by her mistress; tonight she sat on a velvet-covered chair in the corner, watching everyone as closely as the waitress.

Deciding now was her chance to slip upstairs and find what she was looking for, she backed out of the ballroom, nodding and smiling insincerely as she went. She would fix a false smile on her face and slide straight into her 'ignorant because she's Chinese' routine if she was caught.

She placed the tray onto the table by the doorway and hurried across the dim foyer, careful to keep her footfall quiet on the shiny marble floor. She began silently ascending the staircase.

"Where are you going?" someone hissed.

John Cavil had slithered up like a black snake in the high grass, barely stirring the blades as he moved.

She gripped the grand staircase's banister and willed herself to turn slowly and speak casually. "I need the washroom."

"You were shown where the servants' washroom is. Use it." He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone had noticed them. The party-goers all appeared engaged in the bright ballroom.

She carefully came down the stairs toward him. He grabbed her arm, twisting it and hurting her. "Keep your sticky little fingers off anything. If you fuck this up for me, you slant-eyed bitch, I swear, I'll snap your neck and toss your body in the bay. Do you understand me?"

In his fury, he'd sprayed her cheek with spit. She didn't dare wipe it away. "Yes, sir."

"Good." He flung her arm out of his touch as though her flesh was garbage. "Now get back to work."

Head held high, she walked back to retrieve her tray.

~~AV~~

Laura allowed Bill to tighten his grip on her waist as they faced off with Richard and Myrtle Adair.

The society matron was speaking through her unwavering smile, but her pale eyes remained cold, flitting over Laura's revealing decolletage, noting the shine of her silk stocking through the slit in her gown's skirt, the way her curls slid across her bare shoulders. And focused on Bill's large, dark-skinned hand resting low on her hip.

Her thin lips pursed.

Bill squinted. "Mrs Adair," he said, cutting off her droning chatter about so-and-so's presentation ball coming up this season, "would you do me the honor of a dance?"

His question hung in the air. Laura's sharp gaze challenged her guest.

Myrtle dipped her head; an unspoken acknowledgment that the Adamses had won this round.

"I would be delighted," she replied, sounding completely unenthused.

Bill held out his elbow, and she placed just her fingertips on his arm. He led her to the floor and took her in his arms, keeping the prescribed distance well between their bodies.

"I suppose we should dance," Richard said to Laura, his voice heated with emotion.

"Or we could simply find others to speak with." Laura looked around the room.

"Please, Laura."

Her gaze returned to him. "Richard, I don't take pressure or guilt from a man."

His mouth twisted in that unattractive manner she remembered so well. "It's a dance, Laura. Nothing more."

Suddenly she wanted to dance with him, to twirl him right out onto the balcony and send him over the railing into the fish pond below. She couldn't stop her wide grin.

Naturally, he took it wrong. His voice lowered and he leaned close. "Just like old times?"

She could only shake her head and walk away, not caring what the assembly thought had transpired.

"They had an affair," Mrs Adair said.

"Excuse me, Ma'am?" Bill said, startled.

"My husband, your wife," she said grimly.

He couldn't think of what to say. "Yes," he finally replied.

"And that doesn't bother you?" she asked, her voice dripping with contempt.

"Nope." He glanced around quickly for a rescue. Laura had stormed across the ballroom and Elosha was talking to her, a smirk playing on her face.

He forced himself to smile down at his partner. "I'm the one married to her now."

"In my circle, a woman's virtue is the highest prize a lady could give to her intended."

He shrugged. "I wasn't a virgin either."

"How perfectly revolting," Mrs Adair said with great satisfaction. "But I suppose that's the sort of manners I should expect from someone of your past."

He raised his eyebrows. "Who's got poor manners now?" He felt her try to leave his grip. "Now, now, Mrs Adair," he said crisply, "I'm sure you'd never want to create a scene. And deserting your partner on the dance floor would constitute a scene."

Laura drifted to the open French door; she needed air. Elosha had not offered her any sympathy, only tartly suggesting that Laura's chickens had come home to roost.

"Quite the jolly do, eh?" said a man just outside the door, sneaking a cigarette.

"Yes," she said, pleased at the large turnout. Her charity's coffers would be plump indeed.

"Yeah, blew my lassie's heel right off her shoe." The man gave an odd giggle.

Laura's smile became social, losing its warmth.

He tossed his butt over the railing.

She frowned.

The man came to her side, his gaze sliding appreciatively over her body.

She straightened her spine, ignoring his insolent manner.

"Say, do you know who the host of this bash is?" he asked. "I'm afraid I crashed it with no idea."

Furrowing her brow, Laura glared at him. "You never purchased a ticket?"

"Pardon! I'm still working on my American slang." He fumbled in his pocket. "I have a ticket."

"I see," Laura said, forcing herself to unbend a bit. She nodded toward Bill and Myrtle Adair, stiffly waltzing across the dance floor. "There's our host."

Baltar craned his neck. "My popsy wasn't kidding! She's a hag!"

Laura found this man extremely perplexing. "Who?"

"Mrs Adams!" He stared at the Adamses. So this is what Nazis looked like. Frankly, he was disappointed. The man resembled a thug and the woman was a frump. But he supposed that was all part of their cover.

Shaking her head to clear it, Laura started to correct him, but decided to do a bit of sleuthing before their serious case took over the evening. "Who is your friend?"

"A cracking fine girl! Her name's Cynthia. Cynthia Capra." Despite his rapture, he continued to ogle Laura, oozing closer.

Laura peered around the ballroom, cursing her vanity when she needed to see. There, at the doorway; blind or not, she'd know her anywhere-Cynthia Capra. Her eyes narrowed. Cynthia was glancing around also, her manner cool as always...until she spotted her date with Laura Roslin.

Her face twisted into an unattractive mask. So like it had appeared rising from the punchbowl. Laura lifted her chin defiantly.

Cynthia disappeared in the crowd.

"What's your name, m'dear?" interrupted Laura's reflections.

"Mrs Adams," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Baltar's returning smile froze. Laura Adams, nee Roslin! Right here with him! A Nazi!

His smile warmed. This was sort of spy was much more to his liking.

~~AV~~

Bill took a moment to step out on the balcony and clear his head, but keeping his eye on Laura at another set of French doors. Some little fop with long hair was chatting her up.

A tall blonde woman appeared beside him. She removed a cigarette from her platinum case and waited expectantly, a smile on her wide, bright red lips.

He quickly found his lighter.

"Thank you so much," she said. "A gentleman, I see."

After Mrs Adair's rudeness, he had to chuckle.

She stepped uncomfortably close. "I'm Cynthia."

~~AV~~

Chief rubbed his hands together in an effort to get some circulation back into his fingers.

"Why does Laird get to pose as a guest of this shindig and we have to sit out here freezing our asses off in the car?" Figurski complained.

Chief glanced over as the overweight policeman shovelled a roll into his mouth. Rice dribbled down his round chin.

"I have no idea why they picked Laird over you, Fig. I'm sure with your impeccable manners, you would have blended right in." Chief's nose screwed up as a strong smell wafted his way. "What _is_ that you're eating anyway?"

"Babbage 'oll." Figurski mumbled, spitting chunks of onion onto the dashboard of the unmarked car.

"Oh _great_ ," Chief groaned. "My favorite: cabbage." Despite the cold, Chief leaned his head out the window to get some fresh air. The smell of cabbage always made him nauseous.

"This is a waste of time anyway. Who's going to try and steal anything from these rich folks while they are having a swanky party?" Figurski managed to whine between bites.

"Someone who wants that bracelet enough," Chief mused.

"You don't believe that bracelet rubbish that the Adams came up with? That's just some scam they've invented to keep their pal Tigh off death row."

"I'm not sure. That's why we're here tonight."

"I don't understand why someone would kill anyone over some bit of worthless jewelry."

"People have killed for less, Figurski."

~~AV~~

Through one of the grand house's tall windows, Deanna watched the black car parked across the street. She had talked a junior diplomat from the embassy into attending the ball with her. He was interested in meeting some of the city's other handsome young men, so he'd readily agreed, and they'd danced a few times before he faded off to the smoking room. This suited Deanna perfectly. She didn't want his presence; she had work to do.

One of the dark car's occupants lit a cigarette, the glow briefly lighting up the interior. Flat-foots. Flipping the curtain across the window, she turned back to the ballroom, searching the assembly. Two cops outside, and surely there was at least one here.

Her heartbeat quickened when she spotted a now familiar woman. For once, Laura Adams' husband wasn't close to her side. But...who was with her?

That fool Baltar!

She couldn't contain her hiss of fury. She must find Cavil, now!


	18. Chapter 18

"You're drinking too much."

"What of it. My wife was killed, remember?" Saul waved his nearly empty glass in Doctor Cottle's face.

The shorter man stepped closer so his belly bumped into Tigh. "You need to snap out of this," he rumbled.

Saul tossed back the last of his drink. "You don't know-"

Cottle furrowed his thick brows. "I do know. Lost my wife to the 'flu. Had to watch her die and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to save her."

"But I-" Saul briefly closed his red-rimmed eyes.

Cottle softened, putting his arm around Saul's shoulder. "We've got to focus, my man. I see Mrs Adams is wearing her bracelet tonight. I sense something's up-"

He nodded when he saw Saul shift his gaze. "Yep. What can I do to help?"

Looping his arm through Cottle's, Saul pulled him aside. He unbuttoned his dinner jacket, revealing his gun tucked in his waistband. The doctor's bushy eyebrows rose in shock.

~~AV~~

Looking over her companion's shoulder-Laura still hadn't asked his name, she realized-she noticed Cynthia was nestling closer to Bill. He looked uncomfortable, but bless his soul, was trying to be polite. He probably thought this was common behavior at society balls, instead of just the behavior of a common sort of woman.

"I'd love to dance," Laura said, giving the man beside her a brilliant smile.

"Pardon?" Baltar blinked. "Oh! Yes! Of course!"

He took the lovely Nazi in his arms, but instead of allowing him to lead, she began to steer them across the dance floor. Surreptitiously peering down her decolletage, he didn't really care.

Bill tried to discreetly shuffle away from the tall blonde, but he hit the door jamb. His starched collar was suddenly very tight. She was blocking his view of the ballroom; he could swear he spotted that weasel Cavil in a corner with a tall honey-haired woman...she looked familiar...but then a cloud of platinum hair obscured his view.

She leaned closer, like a swaying cobra. Blowing a long stream of smoke over his shoulder, she smiled. "Please, tell me about the sea. It must be fascinating. What's it like? All those men, trapped together, day after day..."

He grimaced and tried to seem interested in her conversation. "Stinky."

Her laughter was like tinkling bells. Her long fingers grasped his bicep and squeezed. "How manly. I rarely meet _real_ men."

"Sure." He scanned the dancers, looking for suspicious figures. He saw Laura dancing with that fop she'd been speaking with earlier. His lips were still flapping, but she wasn't paying attention. He recognized her glazed expression of boredom. No...it was different. Her eyes were boring into the head of the woman speaking with him. Was she trying to warn him that this woman was involved?

He smiled at Cynthia. "Are you a friend of my wife or just interested in downtrodden girls?" he asked, his voice husky.

Her tongue flicked across her bright lips, reminding him again of a snake.

"I've known your wife simply forever; since I was a child and attended her wonderful tea parties here at my Momma's knee," she gushed, moving even closer. "We were all shocked when she married you, but I think I know why now-"

Her hand slipped under his jacket's hem and in shock, Bill realized she was touching him.

"Oooo..." she cooed. "Yes, I see why-"

He grabbed the young woman's wrist, feeling ridiculous, embarrassed, and furious at the same time-what the hell was wrong with these hoity-toity people anyway? He hadn't been felt up like that since that hooker in Marseilles who had been trying rustle up some business.

As though reading his thoughts, Laura spoke sharply behind them: "Cindy, you're giving my poor husband the worse impression of our class."

Mercifully, Cynthia withdrew her hand and quickly looked around.

"Don't worry; the punchbowl is across the room. But I may suggest my husband flip you over the railing into the reflective pool," Laura drawled.

The younger woman tossed back her hair.

"Ladies, ladies!" Baltar interjected. "Really, there's no need to behave in this fashion!" Nonetheless, his eyes glinted at the prospect of a catfight.

"You!" hissed Bill. "The doctor!"

Baltar gaped. It was the man he spoke to on the phone! "My name is Archie Leach!" he quavered, trying to affect an American accent and failing miserably.

Bill pushed aside Cynthia none too gently and came at the doctor.

Baltar screamed in an undignified fashion, and ending up grappling with Laura as he tried to escape.

Then the room plunged into darkness.

"Laura!" yelled Bill. He lunged forward, but he found his limbs entwined with Cynthia Capra's long arms.

"Oh, Mr Adams! Save me!" she screeched, much too close to his ear.

No more time for social niceties. "Get the hell off me!" he bellowed, battling against her tight grasp and cloying perfume.

Finally free of Cynthia, he made his way into the ballroom. "Laura!" he called out again. Still no reply.

~~AV~~

"Chief, look at that!" said Figurski, sitting bolt upright in their car.

Tyrol pushed back his hat that had been slouched over his eyes. "What?" He peered out at the Roslin mansion and immediately noticed all the windows were dark.

"What the hell's going on?" asked Figurski.

Flinging open the car door, Chief hopped out. "I don't know, but we're going to find out!"

~~AV~~

To no avail, Laura fought against the strong arm dragging her backward through the ballroom and the hand clamped over her mouth.

Her head went light as panic overcame her and she tried to breathe through her nose. She inhaled the scent of Carbolic hand soap on her attacker's skin-it was the person who'd tried to steal her bracelet on the wharf the night she met Bill.

Using his lighter for illumination, Bill pushed his way through the crowd, calling out for his wife. No replying call, but he found Saul and Doctor Cottle huddled with the young reporter, Billy. "Have you seen Laura?" he panted. "I think someone has her!"

"No, Mr Adams." Billy fumbled on the sideboard. "But there's some candelabras here."

"Anything." Bill tried to remain calm but every moment Laura was missing, she was in mortal danger.

He lit the candles, creating a pathetically small circle of light. He gave each man a candle. "Let's spread out and find her!"

~~AV~~

Laura felt the flooring change beneath her scrambling feet. She'd lost her party slippers in her struggle, and they were no longer on the polished parquet, but the flagstones of the gardens. Cold air nipped at her exposed skin.

A voice, close, rasping. "I'll get the bracelet."

There was the flicker of a flashlight beam. A hand grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm. Laura sobbed in pain, biting against the hand over her mouth. She could see the man with the flashlight was Cavil, his dark suit making him one with the shadows. He was fumbling with the bracelet's clasp.

"Hurry up!" hissed a voice by Laura's ear. With shock, she realized it was a woman. Finally regaining her nerve, she could focus on her attacker. Yes, there were breasts pressed against her back.

It gave her the vain hope she could fight this person off. She began to struggle anew.

A knife blade flashed in her face. "Stop it!" snarled Cavil.

Twisting her head, Laura managed to free her mouth and see her attacker. "You!" she gasped, trying to regain her voice. It was Miss Biers, the woman from the British embassy. In that instant, she knew they wouldn't allow her to live.

She reached down deep and screamed as she'd never screamed before.

Bill's head jerked in the direction of the cry. "It's her!" he yelled, getting Saul's attention. His friend was close to the scream. But Saul was already on it. He whipped out his gun and fired in the direction of the open French doors.

Terrified, Bill began to fight through the panicking crowd of partygoers.

Deanna released Laura when the bullet whizzed over her head. Cavil turned, but armed only with a knife, he spun back at Laura. She stared at the glistening blade in horror.

Digging in her purse, Deanna pulled out a gun and shot back at Saul. He ducked around the doorway, taking cover. The screaming guests all dove to the ground. Bill jumped over them, still making his way through the shadowy ballroom toward his wife.

Young Jaffee emerged from shrubbery where he'd been hiding, watching for a possible thief. "Mrs Adams!" He grabbed Laura and tossed her aside just as Deanna turned the gun in their direction. She fired, and the young man crumpled.

Suddenly, the lights came back on. Tyrol and Figurski appeared in the doorway and Laird, who'd been trapped across the ballroom, joined them in hurdling toward the gun-wielding Saul Tigh.

"Drop it!" yelled Tyrol, holding up his own weapon.

"Like hell!" roared Saul.

"Let's get out of here!" Cavil tugged Deanna's arm.

"Not yet."

Laura was crouched over the unconscious young footman, frantically pressing her dress's hem to his wound.

"The bracelet, Mrs Adams," Deanna said coolly, leveling the gun at Laura's head.

Laura removed it and tossed the piece of jewelry at Deanna without another look, returning to her care of her servant.

The two attackers rushed through the dark garden, making their escape.

Bill finally reached his friend's side. "Saul, give it up!"

Tigh lowered his weapon and the police swarmed over him. Sirens wailed in the distance.

Ignoring the scene, Bill hurried out into the garden. "Laura!" He only saw the red of blood on her dress and his heart seized in his chest.

She looked at him with a tear-stained face. "Get Doctor Cottle!"

Back in the doorway, Bill called the doctor over. As Cottle hustled past him, he noticed another doctor, that greasy-haired English fop, slinking toward the exit. He thundered across the room, belying his bulk as he tracked the younger man down in a few strides.

He grabbed Baltar by the neck. "You. Stay right here!"

With the protesting Saul Tigh shackled, Detective Tyrol turned his attention to the Adamses. Laura had joined her husband.

"What the hell's going on here?" roared Tyrol.

"They're Nazis!" squeaked Baltar.

Everyone stared at him, aghast.

Richard Adair fought off his wife's clinging grasp. "What are you talking about?" he said, abandoning Myrtle to stand by his former lover.

Laura took Bill's arm, squeezing it tightly. "We have to stop that Cavil! And Miss Biers from the embassy! She's working with him. They have the bracelet!"

Bill confronted Adair, yelling into his face. "Do you hear that?"

"Who gives a damn about some piece of cheap jewelry?" Adair sneered.

" _They_ must be Nazis!" Laura said with dawning realization. "The device must be something strategic!"

She and Bill looked to Baltar. He gulped and began to tremble. "I know nothing," he whispered.

"Put all of 'em in one of these damn rooms and lock the door," said Tyrol, exasperated.

"Hell no!" Bill began to struggled with Figurski. Policemen flooded the room and joined their comrade to drag Bill out of the room. Laura followed, protesting.

Billy watched from the foyer, quickly relaying details of the identities of the Nazis into the phone to his newsroom. This would warrant a special edition!

The Adams were roughly escorted into one of the front parlors. Baltar was led in as well, his protests even louder than Laura's. The door was firmly closed behind them and the lock snapped shut from the outside.

Laura spun away from the solid door, wringing her blood-stained gown in her white hands. "We've got to get out of here. They must be stopped."

Bill grabbed Baltar again and tossed him against the wall. He pressed his face close to the doctor's until they were eye to eye. "You and me are gonna have a little talk, doctor." He slapped Baltar's sweaty cheek.

"I don't know anything," Baltar repeated.

"You do, and you're going to tell us everything."

~~AV~~

Inspector Laird stood guard outside the parlor door. He could hear the low rumbles of Mr Adams' voice peppered in between the high pitched squeals of Doctor Baltar. He was considering opening the door to check the two gentlemen hadn't come to blows when Emily appeared in the doorway.

"Mr Laird! Doctor Cottle has asked if you could come and help with his patient," she said urgently.

"Doctor Cottle?" He glanced at the door. He must remain at his post, but it was securely locked. "Maybe I should fetch Doctor Baltar? He may be able to help."

"No!" She clutched his sleeve, urging him to accompany her. "He needs someone with some muscle."

Peter puffed his chest up proudly and followed Laura Adams' secretary.

Elosha smiled from the shadows, not surprised by the ease men could be manipulated. She silently slid to the door and slipped her passkey into the lock.

~~AV~~

"Doctor, what can I do to help?"

Crouched on the flagstones beside the unconscious Jaffee, Doctor Cottle looked up from his patient. "Are you a doctor?" he asked the earnest-faced man wearing a tuxedo.

"No, no. Inspector Laird." The policeman offered his hand, but then dropped it to his side when he saw both Sherman's hands were covered in blood. "How can I be of assistance?"

Sherman frowned, glancing over Laird's shoulder to see Laura's secretary also hovering. "What is this?" he snapped, pulling the tourniquet on Jaffee's arm tighter. "A circus? Maybe you two could help me by staying the hell out of my way for starters!"

"But you asked this young woman to fetch me."

"What?" He glanced over Laird's shoulder again and saw Emily's face slowly beginning to flush. Laird's head swivelled in the secretary's direction as well.

"You lied about the doctor needing help?" Laird said in a hurt voice.

Emily's chin tilted and her eyes flashed defiantly. "You lied about being a reporter."

With one more wounded look in her direction, he began to run back toward the parlor.

~~AV~~

Laura had already started the car when Bill shoved Baltar into the back seat beside him.

"Okay, Doctor," he growled directly into the quivering man's ear. "Where're we going?"

"Treasure Island," Baltar stuttered. "I've been hiding in a place at the World's Fair. The machine's at my room on Treasure Island."

Laura gunned the motor. Her powerful car surged through the open garage doors, just as Chief and Laird burst out through the front door. They watched helpless as the sleek automobile roared past them.


	19. Chapter 19

Jeanne puckered her plump lips at her reflection in her vanity's mirror and applied another lacquered layer of red lip rouge. Impatiently, she checked her clock nestled in the belly of a sad-faced clown figurine. Guy had gone out for cigarettes simply hours ago!

Fury building, she yanked at her curls with her comb. No loveys for him tonight!

Suddenly, a terrifyingly evil face loomed in her mirror behind her, the twisted mask of a cruel monkey. She could only gasp before he swooped over her head with her favorite pink silk scarf and wrapped it around her neck. The bright room slipped into darkness as he tightened his grip.

~~AV~~

The smarmy scientist led the Adamses through the narrow corridors beneath the stage at Sally Rand's Nude Ranch. Laura's eyes widened as several scantily clad women with pink feather boas draped around their necks jostled their way past, headed to perform in their _show_. Bill took no notice, concentrating instead on firmly holding Doctor Baltar's arm for the duration of their journey.

Up a set of stairs, they followed him into the large but gaudily furnished room where he'd been holed up. "It's under there." He gestured to a table in the corner.

Bill nodded at Laura and she swept the satin cover off the table. Nothing but a few tools lay beneath.

"Oh!" Guy Baltar squealed. "They've already got it. What will we do? We have to get it back, or everyone will think I'm a Nazi!"

"Or a Nazi collaborator," Bill growled.

Laura glanced around the room, wondering if Cavil or Biers left any clues as to their destination. The room was cluttered with evidence that the doctor shared the room with a female, unless, she supposed, he enjoyed decking himself out in such finery. A dressing table contained a disorderly array of powders, brushes and perfumes.

Her gaze caught on another pink scarf, this time with no feathers, dangling over the back of the dressing table's chair. Laura jumped when something moved near the chair leg. She pointed at the twitching small white foot protruding from a silk dressing gown. "Bill!" she breathed.

The men looked to the direction she was indicating.

Guy rushed to his paramour and lifted her head up. "Babycakes," he crooned shakily, brushing her hair back to see the ring of bruising around her neck.

"Gu-" she whispered.

"Go for a doctor," Bill ordered Laura.

Surprised, Laura stared back at her husband. He knelt beside the young woman. "Miss, can you speak?"

Laura hurried to the doorway. "Is there a doctor in the house?" she asked the first showgirl who passed by.

"Is something wrong?" the petite girl with penny-colored hair asked, trying to see around Laura.

"The young lady is ill."

Thankfully, the girl had common sense. "I'll have Sally rustle one up." Whirling on her silver heels, she dashed off.

Laura spotted a phone hanging on the wall at the end of the hall. Holding up her long mink cloak, she rushed to it. "Hello, hello!" she called into the mouthpiece. "Operator!? I need the police!"

Bill propped Jeanne up against the wall. "Can you breathe?"

The young woman nodded slightly. The whites of her eyes were red with burst blood vessels.

"Who did this?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, who could it be?" babbled Baltar.

Bill shot him a quelling look. "Let me handle this."

He leaned close, holding her head level. "Was it a small, older man?"

She nodded again.

"Did they take the device? Doctor Baltar's machine?"

Her eyes rolled toward Baltar. After a moment of hesitation, he dipped his head, giving her permission.

"Yes," she rasped.

"Did you hear where they were going?"

She breathed deeply, finding strength. "Dock. Boat," she finally gave him.

Bill jumped to his feet. "Stay here with her," he told Baltar.

Waiting at the doorway, Laura grabbed Bill's arm. "I've called the police. They contacted the security for the fairgrounds, but those men have no weapons. Do we really want them facing off with German spies?

And they say Detective Tyrol and his men are on their way, but they left my house ten minutes ago."

He gave her quick smile. "Without you at wheel, it'll take them a bit longer to get here."

Ignoring his jab, Laura asked: "Is she going to be all right?"

Bill didn't answer her. "Doctor, do you know where they're going?"

"I don't, truly," Baltar wailed.

Narrowing his eyes, Adams stared at the scientist, who shrank back, holding the moaning woman too tightly.

Sally Rand, the Nude Ranch proprietor, a buxom brightly blonde woman of a certain age, burst into the room, dragging a short, stout man behind her. "What the hell's going on?" she growled in her smoker's voice.

"This girl's been strangled," said Bill.

Sally shoved the doctor forward and once he spotted his patient, he went from red-faced embarrassment to all business.

"Who the hell are you?" asked Sally, looking over the Adams, then just as quickly, she answered her question. "Swells, from the looking of youse," saying the term with the contempt others held for more pejorative terms.

"Laura Adams." Extending her hand, Laura gave the other woman her most practiced social smile. "May we inquire where the dock is?"

"Gotta catch your yacht?" Sally asked contemptuously, not bothering to shake Laura's hand.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Bill replied, glaring back.

"Go out front, take a right. At the Shake Our Fannies Review, hang a left. Go alls the ways to the end, and youse fall in the water." Her accent was thickly Brooklyn, despite her raunchy cowgirl getup.

"Thank you ever so much." Laura's cloak billowed out as she turned briskly.

"Youse goin' after the bastards that done this to Jeannie?" Sally yelled after them.

"Yes!" Bill bellowed over his shoulder as they rushed down the hall.

Sally leaned out of the doorjamb. "Give 'em hell for me!"

At high speed, Laura took the corner by the flashing red lights of yet another dance hall, the large automobile's rear end fishtailing. Grimly hanging onto the armrest, Bill called out, "There's the dock; slow down! I want the element of surprise!"

She slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a stop. Bill opened his door and Laura began to open hers.

"You wait here," he ordered her.

"What?"

"I don't want you in the middle of this." He gave her a level look. "For one thing, you're not dressed for sneaking up on murderous spies."

She gasped in exasperation.

He came around and gently pushed her door shut. "Wait for me."

"You can't face down murderous spies either, Bill," she insisted.

He squinted through the swirling fogs toward the dock. "I'll handle it."

"Wait for the police!" she begged.

"No time. This is our last chance to clear Saul. Once these people have skipped-"

She gave his hand a quick squeeze. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

He gave her a grateful smile. Turning his dark overcoat's lapels over his white shirt front, then he tugged his hat down low over his face. He loped off into the mist.

Laura leaned back, gripping her steering wheel with white knuckles. She'd keep the engine running, ready to come to Bill's rescue.

~~AV~~

From the dock, Cavil watched his large henchman secure the last rope over the bulky code machine, bundled under a heavy tarp on a speedboat's deck.

After wiping sweat from his brow, the thug peered into the dark and fog. "Where's your dame? We need to get out of here."

Cavil was antsy too. "She's contacting the submarine. They'll meet us off the Farallon Islands."

Bill stepped out of the shadows. "You're not goin' anywhere," he barked, pointing at them with his hand in his overcoat's pocket, hoping it led them to believe he had a gun.

Cavil backed away. "Now, now, Mr Adams." Quickly, he kicked the boat's rope free. His henchman jumped to the boat's controls, flipping on the engine.

Bill leapt forward, but the speedboat zoomed away from the dock, spraying the two men with water.

Unable to do a thing, Bill clenched his fists in frustration.

"You don't have a gun after all," gloated Cavil.

"But I do," drawled Deanna, coming up behind Bill and nestling her weapon in the small of his back. "Put your hands up!"

"What do we do now?" asked Cavil, watching the speedboat disappear into the darkness. "We gotta get out of here, and get rid of him."

"We can still meet the sub," said Deanna, "and we'll bring our nosy sailor here as insurance."

Smirking, she brought the gun up to Bill's temple. "You've thwarted me for the last time, Adams."

"Let's get out of here," repeated Cavil, pointing down the dock to where a Grumman Goose seaplane was tied up.

Bill gritted his teeth. With any luck, Laura was seeing the whole thing, and was going for help.

~~AV~~

Laura watched the three of them marching away. She saw the glint of the gun at Bill's back. Flinging her door open, she pursued them, her heels clacking on the cobblestones.

She hid behind a stack of wooden crates, watching Deanna force Bill into the seaplane. Cavil followed.

She needed to find help, immediately. The lights and faint music of the fair taunted her; it was all too far away. She has to find something closer. Looking around frantically, she spotted a phone booth at the end of a nearby boathouse.

Slipping into the booth, then Laura helplessly patted the pockets of her mink cloak. Her pocketbook was back at the house. She didn't even have a nickel! Sliding the earpiece under her hair, she whispered urgently into the mouthpiece as she jangled the receiver. "Hello, operator! Hello!"

 _"How may I help you?"_

"I don't have a nickel! I need the police!"

 _"Could you speak up, please?"_

"No!" hissed Laura. "This is Laura Adams! Please charge my home!"

 _"I'm sorry-"_

A hand reached into the booth and clicked down the receiver. Laura felt cold steel against her temple.

"Don't worry about making that call," Deanna Biers said briskly. She yanked Laura from the phone booth. "Come along, Mrs Adams. You wanted some excitement; you're about to get it!"

The secret agent led Laura back to the plane, hurrying her along and ignoring her protests.

"Hey, what's going on!?" A security guard came from the direction of the fair, his big face creased with concern.

Deanna fired at him, but Laura struggled, causing her to miss her target. The burly guard proved to be faster than his size suggested and dived behind a low wall.

Pushing Laura into Cavil's waiting arms by the plane, Deanna fired again toward the wall. "Tell the police we have the Adams and they better stay clear! We'll kill them!"

Cavil shoved Laura into the plane. Sirens wailed in the distance.

"Let's go!" urged the little man, undoing the plane's ropes.

Deanna scrambled in, fired once more as Cavil pushed the plane away from the dock and jumped in too, pulling the door shut behind him.

Laura found Bill trussed hand and foot and shoved against the fuselage. "Bill, are you all right!?" She cradled his face. He appeared dazed and she noticed a lump on his forehead.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he mumbled thickly.

As Deanna rushed to the cockpit, Cavil grabbed Laura roughly. "Please, join your husband." He forced her to the deck and bound her quickly after tossing aside her cloak, leaving her cold and shivering on the icy metal deck.

The propellers sputtered to life and the plane moved slowly across the water.

On the dock, Chief ran up, furious that they were getting away. The fair's security guard was babbling at him about the Adams, a gun-the policeman raised his own weapon and fired at the plane. Sparks lit the night as he hit it.

The Grumman Goose lifted off.

"Son of a bitch!" swore Tyrol. Laird joined him. "Get police boats out on the water! Shut off the Golden Gate!"

~~AV~~

"Laura-" rasped Bill.

"Darling, are you all right?"

"Doesn't matter-" He wiggled closer, his eyes trained on the closed door to the cockpit. "My knife. In my pocket. Get it."

She rolled over so her bound hands could reach his pants' pocket. He twisted, giving her better access.

"You've almost got it," he said.

She burrowed her hand deeper in his pocket and found herself giggling inappropriately.

He gasped a chuckle. "Yeah, we're gonna have to try this again when we get home and there's not killer Nazis in the next room."

She had it. Carefully, she extracted his trusty jacknife from his pocket. Bill rolled over and took it from her. Opening the blade, he began sawing at his bindings, his gaze still on the door.

"Did I tell you about my knife?" he said, hoping to divert Laura's anxiety. He could feel her trembling beside him.

"No, dear." She tried to make her voice sound strong and blase.

"Well, it's a Swiss Army knife I received as a gift from a Swiss Army officer I knew in the war-" He grunted with effort.

"Fascinating!" Laura enthused. "You've have to tell me the whole story some time, preferably over a nice glass of sherry. But please hurry-"

Bill could feel the binds on his wrists beginning to loosen. "Almost there," he said encouragingly.

Her resolve evaporated. "What are we going to do after you're free? You only have a knife! They have at least one gun!"

Bill never had a chance to answer her frantic questions. Instead, they both froze when the plane seemed to stop in midair for a moment before its engines coughed and spluttered back to life. The drop in the pit of his stomach indicated they were losing altitude.

"Bill?" Laura's voice raised. "Are we going to crash?"

He was saved from answering again when Cavil and Deanna burst from the cockpit. Cavil kept his gun trained directly on Laura.

"Change of plans," Cavil said.

Deanna found two parachutes.

"Seems your Keystone cops have put a hole in the fuel tank," she informed them with a sneer. "That vital ingredient to keeping a plane in the air is pouring out into the Bay as we speak."

She pulled on her parachute before taking the gun off her partner. The female Nazi eyed Laura with glee while Cavil took his turn to don his harness.

The little man then flung the door of the plane open. Wind roared into the cabin, swirling Laura's hair and skirt. There was nothing but inky night sky and stars outside.

"It's a shame, isn't it, that the plane is only equipped with two parachutes," he yelled over the wind.

Deanna gave them one last malicious grin before turning and skydiving acrobatically out the exit.

As the plane continued to descend, Bill and Laura started to slide precariously toward the newly created vacuum.

Cavil raised an arm. "Heil Hitler," he mocked before also making his escape.

"Bill!" Laura screamed as she was sucked closer and closer to the door, struggling against her bindings.

Flexing his muscles, Bill tugged at the last remaining ties on his wrists with a growl. They finally snapped apart but his legs were still bound. He rolled across the deck and managed to snag Laura's arm, holding her tight even as she continued to slide toward the yawning open door.

"Bill!" she screamed again over the noise of the wind.

They slid across the metal deck, the suction carrying them toward the opening. With all his strength, Bill twisted his heavy body until he hit the fuselage by the door with a vibrating whack.

He reached up, fumbling desperately for a handle with his free hand. His grip on Laura loosened, just as her lower body fell out of the plane.

"I've got you, Laura!" he promised, seeing the terror in her eyes. He couldn't care if he bruised or even broke her arm-he must save her!

With a growl from the bottom of his soul, he braced his body against the fuselage, grabbed her with his other hand and yanked his bride back into the plane. He flung her toward her lush cloak, where she landed with an ungraceful 'oomph!'

Bill managed to snag the flapping door and clip it back into place with his free hand.

Blissful silence fell over the cabin. Bill crawled to Laura and gathered her into his arms. Holding her tightly, he whispered soothing platitudes in her ear and rocked her shaking body.

He knew his Laura was a champion when she quickly drew herself back to look up at him. "Where's that damn knife?" she demanded.

He spotted his faithful knife, and turned the blade on her bindings. "You'll be free in a jiffy," he promised.

Suddenly the plane dropped with a jerk. She gasped. "I hate flying!" she confessed through chattering teeth as she shook her stiff limbs out.

While he sawed at the thick rope around his ankles, Laura crawled to the cockpit door. Pulling it open, she looked back in horror. "Bill! There's no one flying the plane!"


	20. Chapter 20

Bill scrambled past Laura, pushing her aside ungallantly, and took the controls. The plane was losing altitude with a sickening rapidity.

Her face ashen, Laura remained frozen in the doorway, staring at the beautiful, brightly lit Golden Gate Bridge looming before them through the windshield.

Tapping gauges, Bill furrowed his brow in frustration. "Sit!" he barked. "Strap yourself in! This is going to be a bumpy ride!"

On shaking legs, Laura made her way to the co-pilot seat, flopping down. Just then, the engines coughed through the last of their fuel, and went silent.

Unfazed, her husband shrugged into his harness as easily as she put on her brassiere. She grappled with the mess of straps hanging behind her seat, trying not to notice the bridge getting closer and closer.

Bill didn't take his eyes off the bridge either. "Pull it down over your body and strap it into the buckle that's hanging between your legs," he ordered.

Hitching up her skirt ungracefully, she did as he commanded, wondering if she was fastening herself into her coffin.

Through thin lips, Bill told her the bad news: "I think we can coast down for a water landing-I've still got control of the flaps-only there's the bridge in the way. I don't dare turn."

Looking around the cockpit, her gaze fell on the one thing she recognized on the control panel. "The radio! We can send a mayday!" she cried triumphantly at her inventiveness. She placed the chunky headphones on her head and adjusted the mouthpiece. "Hello! Hello! Can anyone hear me!?"

Without looking, Bill reached over and flipped on the radio. Crackling filled her ears, then murmuring voices.

She started babbling. "This is Laura Adams, we're on a plane, the Nazis parachuted out, we have no fuel and now we're about to crash in the baaaa-" Orange girders and cables, the flashing lights of racing cars filled the windshield's view.

His feet braced, Bill held the plane's nose level and they swooped under the deck of the Golden Gate Bridge.

"We've just flown under the bridge!" Laura yelled. "You can't miss us!"

Bill chuckled triumphantly at his feat.

Laura clutched his arm. "Alcatraz! We're headed straight toward the island!"

"Son of a bitch," grumbled Bill. "I'll get us down first."

The dark water, capped with white waves, came up very quickly beneath the plane, making Laura nauseous. She had to know everything about her husband before she died.

"How can you fly a plane if you can't drive a damn car?" she demanded to know.

"I'll start driving a car when they come with harnesses like this! Those machines are death traps," he growled, his thick arms shaking with the exertion of controlling the heavy plane as it dropped down toward the bay's surface.

"I learned in the war," he said, sensing her questioning gaze.

"You learned a lot in the war."

All she got for a reply was the flash of his smile in the dark cockpit. She wanted to hold his hand, even just touch his wrist, but she didn't dare divert his attention.

"Love you, my girl," he said quickly.

Before she could return the sentiment, the plane made contact with the water with a deafening slap. Laura screamed instead of professing her unspoken feelings.

The plane's nose rose, blocking out their view. Terrified, Laura thought they were going to flip over. She grabbed Bill's arm again, unable to stop herself.

Time and her heartbeats seemed to stop and she could see the large moon in the sky. Then the plane slowly fell back onto the water with another slap. They were coasting toward the island topped with a dark, menacing castle full of criminals.

"Bill-"

"Yeah, I know," he said grimly, trying to turn the plane to no avail. They skidded across the water at high speed. A dock jutting from the rocky shore loomed directly in their path. With a crack, the Goose struck it, rocking the group of armed guards waiting.

There was silence for a blissful moment. Alive, she was alive. Bill was alive.

"Laura, are you all right?"

Her heart could beat. She could breathe. She spoke. "Yes, darling."

His smile flashed again. "Swell," he said simply.

Laura pulled at her restraints, fumbling urgently to remove the straps and promptly throwing herself into his lap once free.

"Bill!" Her lips peppered his forehead, cheeks, nose and eyes with quick kisses before arriving on his mouth. He took control of the kiss from there - slowing it, deepening it. His hands slid across her curves, ensuring himself she was truly in one piece.

Eventually Laura pulled back. "Bill, I-"

She was interrupted when the plane rocked on the current and bumped into the dock.

Bill gave her hips a small squeeze. "Let's get outta here. We better find Tyrol. Give him a detailed description of the boat."

"Yes! We can't let them get away with the code breaker!"

"And we also need to ensure that Cavil and Biers will soon be wearing their own special silver bracelets."

The subjects of their conversation were bobbing in the Bay, their heavy white parachutes floating beside them.

~~AV~~

"Look there's a boat!" cried Deanna, pointing.

"I told you one would come along," Cavil said calmly, lifting his arm up and waving in the direction of the boat cruising along slowly. "We climb aboard, act appropriately grateful to our rescuers, then dispose of them and head to the rendezvous point."

Deanna was still furious. "We wouldn't be in this situation if you hadn't killed that silly slut of yours!"

"Who?"

"Ellen Tigh, you fool!"

"I thought you killed her!"

"Why in the world would I kill that woman?"

"She couldn't keep her mouth shut!" he said.

"She was going to get the bracelet for us. We needed her. _Then_ I would have disposed of her."

"If I didn't kill her and you didn't-"

A blinding light from the boat silenced him.

Deanna's tone changed from authoritative to damsel in distress. "Oh help me! Please help me!"

She blinked up as the motorboat came alongside, trying to look fragile.

The sandy-haired man from the party, still in his tuxedo, peered over the gunwale at Cavil. "Ah, there you are," he said mildly. "My boss has been looking for you. And you brought a date."

~~AV~~

Bill helped Laura out of the speedboat that had carried them from Alcatraz Island and onto Pier 37 by the Ferry Terminal clock. Swathed in her mink cloak again and on firm land, Laura had regained her verve. A cluster of policemen greeted them.

"Inspector Tyrol!" Laura spoke before the tall policeman could even open his mouth. "I expect you have apprehended those horrible people?"

"Yes, Mrs Adams," he said.

Bill smirked at the younger man's discomfort.

Detective Laird peeked around his superior's wide shoulder. "On their way to headquarters," he said. "And we've retrieved that magic box you were all chasing too."

Tyrol frowned at his detective. "We'll need you to come downtown as well-"

Bill saw the set in Laura's shoulders sag slightly. "Nope," he said firmly. "My wife is still in her party frock and we've had a very tiring evening."

"No Bill, it's our public duty." Laura's chin came up with patriotic fervor. "However, I think you could spare some time to allow us to drop by our house and freshen up."

His practical wife realized it probably wouldn't do to be seen being escorted to the police station in their current state. Her once elegant dress was spotted with numerous smears and smudges of dirt; its hem tattered and torn. Bill no longer had the pristine white shirtfront he had begun with. He fingered Edward Roslin's sapphire tack. It had proved priceless and everything was still pretty much where it was supposed to be, despite his physical activity.

Tyrol opened his mouth to protest, but Laura's level glare bore into him. "Very well, Mrs Adams. We'll be expecting you. Oh, and tell Saul Tigh to stay put in San Francisco. He and I are still due to have a nice long chat about the gun he was waving around at the party."

Growling his displeasure, Bill led his wife away before he said something he'd regret. Spotting a taxi, he hailed it.

"The car," Laura said aimlessly, exhaustion coming over her in waves. "We should go fetch the car."

He settled her into the backseat gently. "Damn the car. You've got plenty more."

~~AV~~

Laura and Bill mounted the stoop after the cab dropped them at the curb. Laura leaned against Bill, letting him take all her weight. "Bed...All I can think about is bed," she said, longingly thinking about sinking into the comfort of her bed's plush linen. Or Bill's bed. Even the cushion in Jake's basket would be a temptation at the moment.

"Me too." He sighed. "But I guess we'd better do the right thing and head back downtown after we change."

"How much time do you think we have?"

Bill flashed her a confused look; catching the gist of her question when her hand crept down to gently squeeze his buttocks.

He chuckled. "I thought you were thinking about bed."

"I am." Her saucy suggestiveness made her face brighten. "Plus I told the detective we needed to freshen up."

The front door flung open and Saul stepped out. Laura's hand moved quickly to her husband's hip.

"You two are finally home!" Saul looked over their bedraggled state. "What the hell happened to you!?"

"Oh, Saul, really, let's save it for another time." Laura patted his arm. "You're going out?"

"Yeah, those Orientals finally cleaned up and cleared out." He rubbed his gun at his waist under his dinner jacket. "Kept my eye on them while they were doing it. Miss Elosha wanted to just toss them out, but I figured someone had to clean up. The staff's all in an uproar-"

Laura's grip tightened on his arm. "How is young Jaffee?"

"He's gonna make it. Doc Cottle patched him up good. He's home already."

"Thank God," said Laura and Bill nodded, smiling at his friend.

"So you're goin' out for a nip?" asked Bill.

"Yeah, you wanna come?" Saul asked eagerly.

Bill's gaze moved over his wife. "Nah. I've got to help Laura change her clothes."

Rolling his eyes, Saul clattered down the stoop. "I'll see you two later then."

Bill meant to warn him about leaving town, but decided he was tired of doing the police's bidding. He turned back to his wife. "What were you saying about bed?" he asked.

Once the door was shut behind them, Bill gathered Laura in his arms, kissing his way from her earlobe down to the pulse point on her neck. His hands impatiently pushed off her cloak, revealing a pattern of pulled threads on the bodice of her dress.

"I think this really needs to come off, Mrs Adams."

"Yes, it's quite ruined." Her hands explored his suit. Then, suddenly, she pulled back and studied him. "Bill!"

"What?"

"Apart from a little dirt, your outfit is quite salvageable!"

"Which means we should probably get to my dressing room as soon as possible. Get it off to prevent any further damage."

"Yes, good point."

The phone rang, but there were no servants around to answer. Laura lifted the extension in the foyer. "Hello?" Her brow creased. "No comment." She hung it up with a clang.

Smiling at Bill, she draped her hand around his waist. "Where were we?"

"Heading upstairs." Bill led her toward the staircase. "We just must get out of these dirty rags."

Laura giggled and followed her husband. At the landing, the phone on the hall table rang. She answered it. "No comment!" she barked, slamming it down.

Bill picked the receiver up again, opened the table's drawer, put it in and closed the drawer. Tugging his wife onward to his bedroom, he promised: "No more interruptions."

~~AV~~

"Okay, you're gonna start talking," growled Tyrol. The policeman leaned over Cavil, angling the bright light so it shone in the little man's eyes. He didn't even blink.

The interrogation room's door flung open. A tall, dapper man with slicked-back black hair entered.

"Who the hell are you?" said Tyrol. Laird came to his side, standing shoulder to shoulder.

The man flashed a badge.

"A G-man?" said Laird.

The FBI agent flicked a smile, but didn't reply.

"What do you want?" asked Tyrol.

The agent tipped his head. "We're here to pick up your prisoners."

Tyrol stepped forward. "What?"

"We're taking over. This is bigger than some petty robbery or murder." Using just one finger, the agent moved Tyrol aside. "Mr Cavil, I presume?"

Tyrol and Laird stormed out of the room.

~~AV~~

Laura perched herself into a stool in the corner of Bill's dressing room.

"You gonna get undressed?" he asked, bending to remove his muddy shoes.

"I want to just enjoy the show first."

He grinned, deciding he'd let her do whatever she wanted tonight. "As long as you don't want me to wear one of those Nude Ranch girls' feather boas," he joked.

As he knew they would, Laura's eyebrows crept up. "I thought you weren't looking."

"I-" His reply was interrupted by a thump from other other side of the wall..

"That sounded like it came from Saul's room. I wonder what he forgot," said Laura.

Bill frowned. "He wasn't sloshed enough yet to be tripping over things." He swung his head around the room, and then left to check the main bedroom.

"I think I know who it is," he said.

"Who?"

"Jake! Jake never greeted us at the door, and he isn't in here. Somehow he must have got locked in Saul's room. I'd better go get him."

"No, I will, darling. I want you to keep on your task." As she passed her husband, Laura helped him out of his crumpled dinner jacket, tossing it on the stool.

He chuckled, but followed. "I'm coming too. I want to keep your anticipation going."

~~AV~~

"Now what, Chief?" asked Laird.

"Where the hell are the Adamses?" Tyrol grumbled at Figurski, ignoring his detective's question.

Figurski, back in his uniform, shrugged. "No sign of 'em."

Chief snatched up the phone. "Son of a bitch." He dialed, listened, then slammed down the handset. "Busy!"

He motioned to Laird. "Come on. We'll go drag them out of there by her lovely red hair."

The men grabbed their hats and overcoats, ready to head out into the cold, foggy night one more time.

~~AV~~

Outside the police headquarters, Billy Keikeya lounged under a lamppost, his hat tipped back on his head.

"Inspector!" he called when he spotted Tyrol.

Chief paused, nodding for Laird to fetch the car. "What'da ya want, kid?"

Billy tugged his notebook from his pocket. "What's the status of the case?"

"No comment." Tyrol opened the door of his car.

The young man wasn't deterred. "Are you following up another lead?"

"We're going to question the Adamses-"

"What could they possibly know about Nazi spies!?" Billy's curls quivered indigently. He started to wave down a cab.

The inspector was very tired and his patience had run out hours ago. "Now where're you goin'?"

"To the Adams' house!"

Sighing, Tyrol looked in at Laird, then shrugged. "Might as well ride with us."

Before he could even finish, the young man hopped in the back seat, his fresh cheeks flushed with excitement.

~~AV~~

Bill swung open the door to Saul's room. "Jake, come on out of there-"

Sharon was bent over Ellen's open suitcase. She froze, a pair of the dead woman's pink panties clutched in her hand.

"Sharon!" cried Laura. "What are you doing?"

The young woman sank to the bed as though she'd lost all her strength. "Miss Roslin...I'm so sorry-"

"I thought you'd left this life behind." Laura shook her head. "You had so much promise-"

Bill crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

Hopping up, Sharon tossed Ellen's garment back in the suitcase. "Miss Roslin, it's not what it looks like-"

"Then what is it," barked Bill.

Sharon's shoulders slumped. "Mrs Tigh...She has something of mine."

"How did she get that?" asked Bill, stepping closer.

"She-" Sharon's eyes darted to Laura. "She was blackmailing me."

"What?" said the Adams in unison, then they exchanged worried glances.

"I'm in love with a man I can't be with...She found out...She said she had pictures..."

Understanding dawned for Laura. "What did she want from you?"

"I acquired a few things for her, but that wasn't enough!" Sharon looked beseechingly at Laura, turning away from Bill.

Laura briefly squeezed her eyes shut. "Did she ask your help the night she died?"

"Yes," whispered Sharon, dropping her head.

It all came into focus for Laura. "Ellen Tigh gave you the cyanide pill to slip in my drink so she could snag the bracelet-"

Adams saw the truth too. "But you killed Ellen instead-" ground out Bill, blocking Sharon from Laura. "You fed her that pill."

"No!" gasped Sharon and Laura.

Bill grabbed the young woman's arm. "Come on. We're goin' down to the station so my friend can get cleared-"

Sharon's lovely features twisted. "No," she snarled, low and vicious. Reaching in her coat's pocket, she pulled out a pistol and pointed it at the Adams. The weapon roared in the small room, filling it with bright light, smoke and the smell of gunpowder and blood.


	21. Chapter 21

Saul wasn't in any rush on his way to the nearest bar. He neither cared if the bar's band had long since played their last note, nor if all the fancily dressed dames had slid off the bar stools and were tucked in their beds. He was going out to drink, and that was it. He was going to numb some of the memories of his wife. His wife whose name had continually been dragged through the mud since her death.

Now there would be accusations about her being a Nazi spy. If only he had shot that Cavil and his female accomplice. They must have coerced Ellen.

"Where you think you're going at this time of the night, Mr Saul?"

Saul stopped in his tracks. Elosha blocked his path. Jake sat faithfully at her feet. For a moment it amused him that Laura's old nanny was out walking Bill's dog. Then, all his mirth disappeared when he remembered her sharp tongue. He knew she was about to give him a lashing.

"Now, Miss Elosha, don't you go getting righteous."

The whites of her eyes shone in the moonlight. "Me, righteous?" she said dryly.

He rubbed his ear, as though feeling the familiar childhood tug of his mother dragging him home when he was out after dark. "Yeah, you," he grumbled.

"There's still plenty of drink at home," she pointed out.

Jake nudged Saul's leg as though trying to push him back to the mansion too.

The maid wouldn't understand that maybe he wanted to get away from his wife's smell wafting from her suitcase, away from the feminine furnishings of the vast house, away from the over the hill lovebirds and what he knew they were doing behind the heavy mahogany bedroom door.

"How 'bout a nice cup of tea?" suggested Elosha.

Saul turned back. "If you put a nip in 'er." He took her arm and tucked it in his, leading her and the dog up the hill toward the large mansion.

He found her laugh pleasant, low and throaty. He smiled down at her. She raised an eyebrow at him, her dark eyes knowing. He gave her a weak smile in return as they mounted the stairs.

Jake suddenly went still and alert, staring at the large front door.

"What's wrong, Jake?" asked Elosha, stopping and tugging on his leash.

Saul opened the door. He tossed over his shoulder: "Come on, you fleabag. I'll give you a bone-"

He saw a slight figure darting down the staircase, the glint of a pistol raising, heard the roar of a discharge-

The bullet thumped at the doorframe by his head. Vaguely, he was aware of Elosha screaming behind him and the dog barking frantically, but he only knew he had to protect them.

Yanking out his gun, he returned fire, emptying the weapon at the person running in the dark. The shooter stumbled and fell, tumbling the rest of the way down the stairs.

"The police, the police!" Elosha panted.

As though she'd conjured them with one of her spells, sure enough, there were Tyrol and Laird, with a uniformed officer bringing up the rear.

"What the hell are you doing!?" yelled Tyrol, grabbing the gun from Saul's slack hand.

Shaken out of his stupor, Tigh pulled free. "Someone was shooting at me! I shot 'im!"

They all rushed into the foyer. Elosha flipped on the switch for the chandelier, lighting up the vast space.

"Sharon!" cried Tyrol, scrambling up the bottom steps of the staircase to where his lover lay crumpled like a broken doll. He gathered her in his arms. Her half-closed eyes lit and opened, and she gasped his name.

"Hang on baby," Tyrol pleaded. "We'll get you to a hospital."

"I'm sorry...I did it...killed them..." She coughed and blood oozed slowly from the corner of her mouth.

He instantly denied her confession. "No!"

"For you...all for you," she rasped before her head dropped to one side, her large eyes still wide.

Suddenly Laura was at the landing above, the bodice of her dress glistening with a ghoulish deep crimson color. She leaned on the railing for support and tried to speak, but couldn't.

Elosha clapped her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming.

"Help, please! Bill's been shot!" Laura managed to get out.

Saul's face went white and he stood rooted to the spot.

Billy, who had decided to ignore the police officers' command to stay in the car, pushed through the cluster of people in the entryway to get to the telephone.

"We need an ambulance!" he yelled into the mouthpiece but heard nothing but a busy signal. He rattled the receiver frantically. "Hello, hello!"

Cottle burst out of the door to the servants' quarters. "What the hell's going on here?" he barked around his dangling cigarette. "Who shooting this place up now!?"

"Please, doctor!" called out Laura. "Bill's hurt!"

Cottle stopped and spared Sharon a concerned look as he made his way up the stairs.

Tyrol shook his head. "Go, Doctor. Go on."

Following a distraught Laura to Saul's bedroom, the doctor quickly assessed Bill's condition.

Elosha entered the room behind Laura, flinching at the sight that greeted her. The doctor was ripping open Mr Adams' shirt, causing the sapphire shirt stud to fly away unnoticed. Elosha could not tell where the bullets had even penetrated his chest with the amount of blood spreading across the wide torso. She decided Laura needed something to do other than watch her husband die.

"Come on out, Miss Laura. Let the doctor do his work. We'll go call an ambulance to get him to the hospital."

"No time!" Cottle announced. He looked up at Laura. "We'll get him downstairs and into one of those cars of yours, my girl."

Saul craned his head into the crammed room, riveted by the sight of his big, strong friend reduced to a slack body lying in a pool of blood. "I'll get a couple of these boys to help."

"I need him stabilized," said the doctor, looking around. "Something for a stretcher-"

"The door," said Saul grimly. He gripped the handle and kicked it viciously, splintering the door off its hinges.

Laura stifled a scream, shaking already.

"Get the hell up here and help me," Saul bellowed over the landing's railing at the police below.

Gently, he helped the doctor move Bill onto the door. Laird and Figurski came into the room and took one end of the door, while Saul and Billy lifted the other. Cottle pulled some clean undershirts from the bureau to hold over the wounds.

In a trance, Laura followed them down the stairs. Seeing them coming,Tyrol lifted his lover's lifeless body and moved her out the way.

Elosha forced Laura to stop and put a coat on before hurrying to the garage.

The men maneuvered Bill's slack body into the back of Laura's Rolls while she busied herself showing Figurski how to open the door to the garage.

Saul automatically jumped into the driver's seat.

"I'll drive!" Laura snapped.

"Miss Laura, you're in no shape-" Elosha started, but Laura waved her off.

"I'm his wife! I'll do it!"

She stared Saul down. He slowly got out of the seat, nodding wordlessly.

"Let's elevate his feet," said the doctor, propping Bill's feet on the door's armrest. He wedged himself onto the floorboards, sitting on the driveshaft's hump. He lifted Bill's wrist, checking his pulse.

Grim, he looked at Laura. "Let's get this wagon going."

"I can drive fast _and_ safely," Laura vowed, her demeanor one of steely determination. "Elosha, please go with Mr Tigh in another car and meet us there."

Without asking, Billy joined the Adams' friends as Saul got behind the wheel of the trusty Hudson.

Less than two minutes later, Laura was speeding down the hill toward the hospital. Laird led the way in a squad car, its siren wailing to clear a path. The front grill of her much more powerful machine nearly touched his rear bumper, forcing him to drive as fast as he could push the old Ford.

She concentrated on not letting her gaze linger in the rear view mirror. "We'll make it," she promised her passengers.

~~AV~~

Laura rubbed her shaking arms, staring at the set of swinging doors that Bill disappeared through nearly a half an hour ago. He would come walking out at any moment, laughing at his joke...

Then she remembered Bill's body shielding hers, his familiar weight smothering her, then the unfamiliar sensation of warm liquid soaking her gown. His breathing, loud in her ear, shook and rattled.

Sharon fled the room and after a moment of terrible silence, Laura struggled free and scrambled to the door to lock it behind their attacker. She returned to her husband, turning him on his back. His once white shirtfront was red, his features rigid with pain, his eyes closed.

She called his name again and again, needing him to catch his breath and smile as though awaking from a nap.

Nothing.

"Bill, Bill..." She tried again. "I love you, Bill, you know that, don't you?"

She'd imagined this moment plenty of times before, when she finally summoned the courage to utter those words, but her fantasy became twisted in reality. She was shedding tears, for sure. She was gasping the words; they were torn from her heart agonizingly.

But they were said out of fear and terror that his life was seeping away before he could know how she felt. She was saying them more for her redemption than his adulation.

Even though she heard more gunfire, she knew she had to seek help for Bill. He was dying. She made her way to the door and out into the chaos their home had become.

Elosha brought her back to the sharp black and white world of the hospital. "Miss Laura," she said, "I'm going to call the house and have that silly downstairs maid Bridgette bring you a change of clothes. She needs to leave Young Jaffee for a while or he'll get ideas."

"Yes," replied Laura, but Elosha could tell she really wasn't listening.

"How about your blue Harris tweed suit? With a pink blouse? Mr Bill loves you in that."

"Yes."

Elosha gently pushed Laura down to the bench beside a silent Saul Tigh. "And your camelhair overcoat. This one's stained too."

Laura could only nod.

"She's cold, Mr Saul," Elosha said again.

He looked up at her, his gaze just as glazed as Laura's. Elosha tipped her head at Laura.

"Oh, yeah," he said. Stiffly, he put his arm around Laura's shoulders. After a moment's hesitation, she leaned on him, cradled her cheek with her hand on his chest.

"Shall I have Bridgette bring you a change of clothes too, or will you be going home soon?" Elosha asked Saul.

"I'm not goin' anywhere." He looked down at his blood-stained evening clothes. "Yeah, could ya? Just some dungarees and a sweater is fine."

"Of course." She bustled to the pay phone, grateful for something to do.

~~AV~~

Laura knew the exact date of the last time she'd been in a church. The memories from that day were still vivid: three coffins lined up before the altar; distant relatives dressed in their best clothes delivering a series of meaningless platitudes; and her deciding that God couldn't exist.

She had vowed never to turn to Him again. He showed her no mercy by taking her remaining family away all at once; hadn't her mother been enough? She couldn't rely on Him again. She'd decided then and there she would have to find the strength within herself to take on whatever difficulties life was going to throw her way. Yet here she was; standing in the doorway of the hospital's chapel.

Bill had finally come out of his surgery and she'd been allowed to see him. He lay on the hospital bed, his beautiful dark skin replaced by a sickly yellow pallor.

"Can I touch him?" she'd asked Doctor Cottle.

The doctor adjusted Bill's I.V. drip. "He won't break, Mrs Adams."

She grasped Bill's hand. His skin was cold. She hadn't realized how much she'd become accustomed to his warmth.

After leaning down and kissing his knuckles, she'd asked, "What now?"

"Those shots rattled around in his chest mercifully missing his heart and lungs. But I had to take out his spleen. There's nothing more we can do now. Except wait."

His bad news delivered, Cottle shrugged. "For now, prayer couldn't hurt," he had suggested.

And she would. She'd do anything if she thought it would bring back Bill.

Crossing the aisle to the side altar, she chose a plain white votive candle and slipped coins into the donation box. She lit the wick off one of the dozens of flickering others-so much pain in the world. Placing her candle among the wall of light, she felt strength beginning to course through her veins.

Now Bill needed some of that strength.

She dropped to her knees on the prayer kneeler and fumbled for a proper prayer.

"William Adams will live," she demanded, despite the shaking in her voice.

Gasping to hold back tears, Laura pressed her hand to her forehead. If she were to reconnect with her faith, she as going to have to accept she couldn't direct events like a dinner party.

Under control, she tried again. "Please," she whispered.

~~AV~~

"Jaffee's up and about. I'm hoping he'll be able to drive us home when you're allowed to leave the hospital. That way, you and I can have a snuggle in the back seat."

Laura arranged some bright flowers in a vase as she prattled on to Bill.

"Emily sends her love. She's keeping the office going in my absence. And don't worry about Jake, darling. He's being spoiled rotten by everyone in the household. You'll have to walk him four times a day to get him back in shape when you get home."

Once the flowers were settled to her liking on a shelf, she fussed with the blanket and sheets that were tucked around Bill's body.

"Saul is camped out in the waiting room. He'll pop in again soon and bring me some lunch. I'll still be here, dear, if you feel like it's a good time to wake up."

A knock on the door interrupted her plea. She did little to hide her impatience when she saw the identity of the caller.

"Richard, I've already given my statement to Officer Laird."

"I know." He looked over her shoulder at the still prone figure of Bill Adams. "He hasn't come to yet?"

"No."

He took in Laura's appearance, the dark circles under her eyes, her lank hair hastily pulled back from her pale face which had creased overnight with wrinkles.

"People shooting off guns usually end up with stray bullets in uncomfortable places."

"Excuse me?" Laura grasped the door and blocked her ex-lover's entry to the room.

"Just quoting your husband, dear. When your family is involved with mobsters, and you have friends of questionable backgrounds, this kind of thing was bound to happen sooner or later. "

"You're blaming Bill for Sharon's actions?" She gasped at his audacity. Grabbing his arm, she yanked him out into the corridor and closed the door behind her.

Then she laid into the district attorney. "If you hadn't been so eager to focus all your energy on Saul Tigh, and then Bill, you mightn't have bungled the entire case and arrested the real offenders before innocent people were shot! You wouldn't have Cavil and Biers in custody if it wasn't for Bill. And the Nazis would be using that codebreaker machine to spy on America and her allies."

Richard paled at her tirade. He reached for her, as though to offer support. She remained unmoved.

"You need to go home to rest. The hospital can call you if there's any change," he murmured.

Surprised at his suddenly subdued tone, she shook her head.

"I'll be staying here. When Bill wakes up I'd like to be the first thing he sees."

"Laura, he was shot at close range. You need to face the fact he may never recover."

Tears gathered behind her eyes, but she was determined not to shed them in front of this man.

"Trust me, Richard, if that becomes the case, I won't be rushing back to warm up your cold bed."

Richard sighed. "Look, Laura, I never-"

She cut off his reply and demanded to know: "Have you dropped all charges against Saul Tigh?"

"Yes. We've accepted that Sharon Vu was responsible for Ellen Tigh's death."

"And Cavil and Biers? When will their trial begin? I'd like to attend."

"I'm not sure." He passed a hand over his face, an old habit she knew was a sign of frustration. "Don't worry, I'm also eager."

Contrary to her social pages image, Laura was well aware of current events in Europe. "Yes. If Hitler and his Brown Shirts actions are any indication of their plans, these people must be stopped."

Richard nervously licked his lips.

Laura felt suddenly tired and impatient. Her nerves were shredded. "I've always known your origins, Richard."

"How?"

She shrugged. "I think Myrtle had her eye on you from the start. She thought hearing that you were a Jew would drive me off the field."

"Why would she interfere? When we were an item, Myrtle was just the quiet spinster daughter of the senior partner at my firm-"

Laura raised her eyebrows. "I suppose it did make a difference," she said slowly. "I couldn't spend my life with a man who wasn't comfortable with who he is-"

He sneered. "Trust me, Laura. Dealing with antisemitism is more than just being comfortable with yourself."

She sank to the bench along the wall. "I know it wouldn't have been easy. Your career probably would have stalled," she admitted. "But you would have had your dignity."

He sat beside her. "And you too?"

She smiled back. "No. There was certainly more to my decision than your duplicity."

He could only give a bittersweet laugh. "Never change, Laura Roslin."

"But I have. It's Laura Adams." She stood. "And I better get back to him."

"I hope he wakes up soon, Laura," he called after her.

Pausing in the doorway, she gave him a stronger smile. "Thank you."

~~AV~~

Tyrol and Laird chased the FBI agents leading Cavil and Deanna down the stairs of the police station.

"What the hell's going on!?" yelled Tyrol, but he was ignored by the men in black suits.

They led the silent and blank-eyed foreign spies to a dark-colored delivery van. The nondescript vehicle revealed nothing with its exterior markings.

One of the agents used a large key to unlock and open out its back doors. The police officers caught a glimpse of two cages with thick steel bars. Another agent sat in between the cages with a shotgun.

Tyrol tried again. He stood before the agent who'd first walked in on him questioning Cavil.

"Where are you taking them?" he asked as the two prisoners were ushered into the cages and chained by their wrists and ankles to the opposing far sides of their cells.

The FBI agents slammed the door shut on the truck and nodded to one another before climbing into the cab of the truck.

Its engine started, covering both policemen with dark toxic fumes. "Son of a-" Laird swore, waving the exhaust from his face.

Without a backward glance by the agents behind the wheel or in the passenger seat, the truck pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the swirling fog.


	22. Chapter 22

A man's strong hands lightly grasped Laura's shoulders, waking her. She shook her head to clear it. "Bill?" Her voice was raspy from crying.

No, Bill lay still as always in his hospital bed.

She looked up at the man standing behind her chair. "Hello, Tom. What are you doing here?"

"I came by to see how you are, Mrs Adams." Tom Zarek smiled down at her tenderly.

Moving away from his touch, she tried to return his smile. "That's very thoughtful."

He laid his hand on the chair's back beside her shoulder. "You should come home. Let us take care of you."

Her gaze returned to Bill. "I'm not leaving."

"Mrs Adams...Perhaps you should begin to think about the future..."

Startled, she glanced back at Zarek. "What do you mean?"

His fingers wrapped around her shoulder again. "That perhaps it's time to lean on those who care about you."

"Hands...off..." came from the bed.

Laura's stiff limbs protested as she lurched forward to take her husband's outreaching hand. "Bill!"

"Wha' you doin' here? Should be home..." he slurred.

"Where else would I be?" Laura asked. She shot Tom Zarek a beseeching look over her shoulder. "Thank you, Tom. If you have any business issues, please contact Emily." He raised his hands in mock surrender and backed out of the room, closing the door.

Grateful to be alone, Laura squeezed Bill's slack hand.

His other hand touched his chest where the bulky bandage lay under the gown and blanket. She could see the physical and emotional pain flash through his eyes-he was remembering what happened.

He focused on her. "You all right?"

"I love you, Bill."

"You all right?" he repeated, more worry in his tone.

"Yes, darling. Not a scratch on me. You protected me."

"Good." He released a long breath.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yep, heard you the first time." His eyelids fluttered.

She pressed her lips to the back of his hand. "I'm glad. I'm so glad, darling."

He turned his hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks with shaking fingertips. "Not going anywhere. No need for more deathbed declarations," he grumbled, wincing in pain.

"It wasn't that!" she protested. "I had just been silly, that's all."

He relaxed against his pillow, his strength ebbing. "Not silly. Just Laura. Just the woman I love."

~~AV~~

Laura fluffed an extra pillow and wedged it behind Bill's head. "Does that help?" she asked.

"Thank you, dear," said Bill, taking a careful breath.

Aware of his every move, she evaluated at him closely. "Do you need the doctor?"

His lips pursed. "Nope. Just fine."

Before she could question him further, there was a light knock on the door.

Billy poked his head around the door. "Am I interrupting?"

Bill beckoned the young man to enter. "No, no. Good to see some new faces."

Now it was Laura's turn to purse her lips, but her husband didn't notice. Billy accepted an offered chair.

"How are you doing, Mr Adams?"

Bill found his glasses and put them on, peering at his guest. "Are you asking as a reporter or a friend?"

"Bill!" said Laura, squeezing his shoulder.

Her husband hunched his back. "I just don't want everyone knowing my business."

"Then you married the wrong woman," Laura said tartly.

Billy shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Mortified at her outburst, shattering all her intentions to be the best wife ever from the day Bill awoke forward, she sat beside him on the bed and hugged his shoulders. "Would you like Billy to leave?" she murmured in a low, special tone.

"I'm sorry, Billy. Kinda in a mood. You understand," Bill said gruffly, ignoring Laura's mothering.

"Of course, Mr Adams. I really just wanted to know you were on the road to recovery." Billy blushed. "The paper's got its sources on your condition anyway. No need to ask."

Bill chuckled, then winced, touching his chest. Laura pressed her lips together to hold back her frantic questions.

Having caught his breath, Bill was the one who interrogated the young man. "So what happened to Cavil and that woman? The cops have dropped all charges on Saul, but they won't tell us anything about those two."

Shaking his head, Billy could only shrug. "Even my source at the Hall of Justice can't find out anything. They just disappeared one night. The detectives aren't talking either."

"Where the hell have they gone?" asked Bill.

"The important thing is, they can't harm anyone again," pointed out Laura. She turned to Billy. "And I assume that Doctor Baltar has been arrested for his role?"

The young reporter looked uncomfortable again. "Not exactly, Mrs Adams."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He pulled a fresh edition from his pocket and handed it over. Laura opened the newspaper. The large photograph showed Guy Baltar and Cynthia Capra coming down the Hall of Justice steps, waving to a throng of well-wishers. The banner headline read: _Heroic Doc Helps Nab Nazis_.

"What the hell?" growled Bill.

"Now, dear, your blood pressure," fussed Laura.

He shot her a quick glare. "How could the cops let him off? He was obviously working for those two!"

"With them gone, the authorities had to take his word as to what happened," explained Billy. "And he claimed he was duped into believing he was assisting the British Government-"

"Miss Biers did work at the embassy," Laura said.

"He claims he was doing his own investigation when the two of you interceded and nearly blew the whole thing up," Billy said uncomfortably.

"That little twerp," hissed Bill.

Laura looked at the picture again. "He may be on top of the world now, but I shall never welcome him in my home again!" she said dramatically.

Bill raised his brows, a smile quirking on his lips.

Laura stuck her nose in the air. "All right, perhaps it doesn't seem like much to you, but it is." She looked to Billy. "Correct?"

He grinned. "As the _former_ society columnist for the weekend editions, I will confirm that."

"Former?" Laura queried.

"Yes, Ma'am. I've been promoted to the real news beat."

"I'm so proud of you!" cried Laura, jumping up to give his hand a shake.

"Good job, son," agreed Bill.

"Thank you, Mr and Mrs Adams, but I doubt it was the work I did on this story." Grimly, he added, "Something tells me this is just the first of many such stories the Examiner will be printing. They need all hands on deck."

~~AV~~

A procession made its way across the mansion's vast foyer. Saul carried two huge flower arrangements. Young Jaffee carried Bill's suitcase. Elosha swept down the staircase, bringing Bill's robe and slippers, and joined the line.

Bill and Laura brought up the rear, arm in arm, moving slowly for Bill's benefit.

"We've converted one of the parlors into a bedroom so you don't need to do the stairs," said Laura. "And you can enjoy the view out the window."

"Like a parakeet," grumbled Bill.

"Is something wrong, darling?" Laura asked, concerned.

"No, no. Just fine." Bill tried to look grateful as he viewed the expectant faces of his friends and servants standing in his new bedroom. "This is great. Thanks."

"Welcome home, sir," said Old Jaffee. "Would you like some tea?"

"Sure," said Bill. "That'd be swell."

Laura took charge. She took his arm and led him across the room. "Come get in bed, dear."

"I've been in bed for two damn weeks," he grumbled.

All the others exchanged worried glances, and as if making an unspoken agreement, filed out, mumbling platitudes. Only Saul lingered at the door.

"Need anything, Bill?" He made a tipping motion with his hand.

Laura's nostrils flared. Before she could say anything, Bill waved his hand at his friend. "Thanks, Saul, but it looks like I have an appointment with a bed."

Bill refused his wife's help with changing into his pajamas and robe. In the white-tiled bathroom, he slowly undressed and then stood before the large mirror over the sink.

Before they left the hospital, Doctor Cottle had removed his bandages for the last time. "The stitches are out," the doctor had told him. "You're fine."

Bill had glanced down, seen the angry red lines across his chest, then away. "You sure?"

"Any concerns?" said Cottle, his heavy brow furrowing.

"Uh..." Bill's olive skin flushed dark red. "I haven't..." He quickly glanced down below his waist. "Never had problems before, you see."

Cottle blushed as well, but forced himself to remain nonchalant. "This joint's hardly conducive to romantic responses, Mr Adams."

"Please, call me Bill." The patient forced a smile. "After what I just told you, we need to be on a first name basis."

Chuckling, Cottle slapped Bill's back. "Okay. Just let nature take its course, Bill. You've got a beautiful, desirable wife-"

Bill narrowed his eyes. Cottle held up his hands in a shield. "I've known her since she had firecrackers for pigtails and scabbed knees. She's like a daughter to me." The doctor had patted Bill's back again. "When the time comes, you're home in your own bed, you'll be fine."

Bill forced himself to look at the scars closely. The doctor may be right, but this sure wasn't the right time. If he exerted himself, his guts were gonna fall out!

A light rapping on the door startled him. "Yeah?"

"Darling, are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just give me a few minutes," he mumbled.

"Dear?"

"Coming!" he bellowed, quickly buttoning up his pajama top over his scars.

Once he came out, Laura was by the bed, plumping the pillows. She turned down the bedding and with a deep sigh, Bill crawled under the covers. He was tired, as much as he hated to admit it.

"Rest," she murmured, kissing his brow.

He reached up and cradled her cheek. He could feel the tears clinging to the silken skin.

"I love you," she said.

He smiled. "Love you too." He gently pulled her head down to meet his lips. Their kiss deepened...Perhaps the doctor was right-

A loud rap at the room's doorframe made Laura jump back. She whirled to face the newcomer.

"Hello?" she said, trying to sound polite instead of irritated.

A woman entered, her stiffly starched white uniform rustling. "Nurse Erin Mathias, reporting for duty." She came to attention at the foot of Bill's bed.

Bill and Laura exchanged worried looks.

Laura tentatively extended her hand. "How do you do. I'm Mrs Adams."

"I don't shake hands," the nurse said crisply. "Germs."

Laura clasped her hands behind her back. Bill pulled his covers up under his chin.

"The patient must have rest," said Nurse Mathias.

"Of course," said Laura in a rush. "I'll be going." She started to kiss Bill goodbye, but felt the heat of the nurse's glare.

She backed out the room. Bill watched her go longingly, his desire deflating with his wife's retreat.

~~AV~~

When Nurse Mathias had her back turned, and Laura was in the kitchen, fetching him yet another pot of tea, Bill made a break for it. He'd been convalescing in the make-shift bedroom for two weeks now, and was bored out of his mind. He wanted put on some real clothes, no more pajamas and robe, smoke a cigar, have a nip with his pal Saul...

Once he made it up the stairs and caught his breath, he poked his head into Saul's room. "Hey, buddy, how 'bout-"

Saul was bent over his suitcase, filling it with his things.

"Where you going?" asked Bill.

"Time for me to shove off," said his friend.

"You know you're welcome here as long as you want," Bill insisted.

"Sure." Saul emptied a drawer and haphazardly dumped the underclothes in the suitcase. "But there's nothing to keep me here."

Dropping his head, Bill shuffled his slippered feet.

Saul could see he'd hurt his friend. He tried to explain. "You're gonna make it. Ellen's gone. I'm just in the way now-"

Bill started to protest, but Saul plowed on. "You've tied up in dry dock, Bill, but I've got a lot more seas to sail."

Dry dock? Him? Bill blinked in shock. Before he could reflect on that thought, a sharp voice came from behind him. "Mr. Adams! What are you doing up here?"

Nurse Mathias was at the top of the stairs, staring at him disapprovingly.

"I'm going to dress," he announced, and before she could protest, nipped into his bedroom, slamming the door in her face.

His dignity restored with putting on an oxford cloth shirt, checked tie, flannels and tweed jacket, Bill joined Saul as he came down the stairs with his suitcase. Nurse Mathias watched them pass, her muscular arms folded tightly. She tossed her head, causing her starched cap to quiver, and entered Bill's room to collect his sleepwear.

Laura was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. "Where are you going?" she asked Saul.

He explained and put aside her protests. She finally relented. "You will always have a place in our home, Saul," she told him, taking his hand to give it a squeeze.

"Thanks," he mumbled, turned his face away so she couldn't see his shining eyes. "Is Miss Elosha around?"

"She's in the kitchen, overseeing Bill's lunch," Laura said, raising her eyebrows at Bill. He shrugged.

Saul set down his suitcase and disappeared through the servants' door.

"Are you all right with this?" Laura asked, lacing her arm in Bill's.

"I understand," Bill said, evading her question.

"Say," she said, "Why don't we go to the Top of the Mark tonight. It's simply the place to go and we haven't been there yet."

He looked from the door he'd still been staring at, and down to his wife. There was such yearning in her eyes; she wanted her old life back.

"That sounds swell."

Saul burst through the door, his sallow cheeks flushed. "All right then. I'm off."

"Would you like me to drive you down to the docks, Saul?" Laura asked.

"No," Bill answered for his friend. "Why don't we have Young Jaffee do the honors. I'll come along too. Do me good to get some fresh air."

The old sailor collected his case and made his final goodbye to his friend's wife.

Laura couldn't keep her concern out of her voice as Bill leaned down to offer her a quick peck on the cheek. "Don't forget your hat and overcoat."

Bill and Saul headed toward the garage, leaving Laura alone in the foyer, wringing her hands and feeling uneasy. This was the first time he was out of her sight since the shooting.

She forced herself to go work in her office, but couldn't focus at all. She finally excused herself. Thoughtful, Tom Zarek watched her exit.

Emily cleared her throat. "Mr Zarek, I meant to ask Mrs Adams about the Filbert Account-"

"The Filbert Account?" His head snapped around to stare at her.

"Yes," she said cautiously. "There're some discrepancies..."

He reached across the desk and snatched the folder from the secretary's hands. "I'll look into it. You don't need to worry your pretty little head about it."

He stuffed the folder in his briefcase and curtly told her that he had a luncheon meeting. After he left, she made a few quick notes on her steno pad and slipped the note into her purse.

~~AV~~

"It'll be good to be back out on the water," Bill told his friend as Young Jaffee kept the car at a slow steady pace.

"Yeah, I got a lotta thinking to do."

Bill nodded. "I envy you. Things are different out there; quiet and peaceful."

"What?" Saul stared slack-mouthed at Bill. "What the hell have you got to be envious of? You gotta classy rich broad who's somehow seen past your ugly mug long enough to agree to marry you. She doesn't cat around behind your back, and I doubt she'll be ever accused of slipping a mickey in anyone's drink. It won't be damn quiet and peaceful, you old fool, it will be lonely!"

Saul chuckled suddenly, softening the blow of his tirade. "Just thinkin'. The crew and I were all worried when you retired; thought you'd be bored. Instead you're busier now keeping up with that woman of yours than you've ever been!"

Bill chuckled along with him. "Yeah," he agreed, "life with Laura is anything but boring."

They'd arrived at their destination and were now standing on the docks. Bill realized they weren't too far from where he and Laura had met. She'd been so frustrating during their first encounter. He hadn't been able to decide whether he wanted to slap her or kiss her. Eventually though, the kissing had taken precedence.

He'd learned over the last month that she was always going to prove a challenge for any man. She'd rarely done what genteel society thought she ought to do. And that included marrying him.

Bill had faced down prejudice his whole childhood. He'd beaten the Huns. He'd ridden out hurricanes tearing his vessel in half. But he was truly terrified for the first time in his life. He was failing this infuriating, intoxicating woman.

Blocking out these panicked thoughts for the moment, he reached out and pumped Saul's hand, then gave his chum a quick punch on the arm.

"We'll see you next time you're in port," he said, ensuring Saul knew he was always welcome to stay with them.

Bill hurried back to the waiting car.

"Home, sir?" Young Jaffee asked as they pulled away from the curb.

"No, son. I was thinking we might take a little detour."

~~AV~~

It was a silent ride up the elevator to San Francisco's posh new nightspot. Their romantic evening out had had a rocky start. Bill returned to the house to find Laura beside herself, with the police on the telephone ready to search the streets for him. He'd evaded her questions, giving her nothing more than a kiss and an admonition to go get dolled up. Then he'd had to fight off his nurse and her suggestions that perhaps he wasn't up to this sort of excursion out.

Bill was still brooding about that. He felt fine, dammit.

The pressure from the ride to the top of the palatial hilltop hotel compressed his chest. He winced.

Laura looked at him out of the corner of her eye and bit her lower lip with vexation. She wasn't going to nag, she wasn't going to nag...

"Are you going to tell me why you were late coming home?" she asked.

He took her hand and kissed the back, his eyes twinkling. "You'll find out later."

Before she could argue, the elevator operator opened the doors for them, and the club's manager came forward to greet his honored guests. They were given a premium table, with both an unobstructed view of the city's sparkling lights from the hotel's perch atop Nob Hill, as well as the orchestra and dance floor.

Unfortunately, it also put them on display for all the other patrons. Whispers rustled through the tables as they made their way to their table. Laura had her practiced social smile on, nodding at those she knew, while Bill set his mouth and barreled after the waiter.

A society matron dared to wave Laura down. "Laura, darling! So good to see you out on the town! We were so worried you were hiding out from some nefarious forces." The woman's beady eyes focused on Bill looming behind his wife.

"Yes, now that Bill has recovered, we'll be returning to our usual activities," Laura said with more force than she intended.

Her husband slipped an arm around her slender waist and drew her away. "Great idea," he murmured in her ear. They sat at the small table, lost in their own expectations for the evening.

Blocking out all the stares, Bill focused on Laura. "This was a great idea, darling."

"I'm so very glad you think so," she said, nodding at the waiter's suggestion for champagne.

"You hate champagne," Bill reminded her.

"I wasn't even listening to him," she admitted. "I was looking at you."

He laughed. "Just the same ol' mug..." He thought of Saul's words again, and took her hand. "Got you something today." He pulled a small package from his pocket.

"Oh!" she said, relief flooding her face. "You were out shopping!"

"Sure, where'd you think I went?" He motioned the waiter over and ordered two martinis.

"I don't know...perhaps looking at the shipping roster with Saul," she said slowly.

"Why'd I be doing that?"

"Seeing when the next freighter was leaving." She dipped her head to take a sip of her drink. "Running away to the sea to find some peace and quiet."

"I like your kinda excitement." He kissed her palm. "Now open your present."

She tore her gaze from his warm eyes. "Oh yes! I forgot all about it."

"Some gratitude," he teased gently.

She lifted the flat silver box's lid with the Shreve name etched on it. Inside was a simple silver bangle.

"To replace the bracelet the cops took."

Laura manipulated the gap in the silver band to slip the bangle over her wrist before turning tear-filled eyes to Bill. "Thank you, darling."

He smiled with pride. He had walked into that ritzy store like he belonged there, checked over all sorts of glittering baubles, but decided on something sleek, and yet solid, just like his girl. And he'd brushed aside the offer to put it on the Roslin account. He'd paid cash, something he'd assumed was a rarity at Shreve from the way the clerk had accepted the money with just his fingertips.

But none of that mattered to see Laura's face now.

"You know where I want to go?" she murmured.

"Home?" he suggested hopefully.

"Silly," she said, slapping his arm lightly. She lifted his big hand and twined their fingers. He turned the bangle with his other hand, admiring the way it glistened on her pale arm.

"I want to go on our honeymoon," she announced.

"A honeymoon? Haven't we been on one since we got married?"

"You are in a mood this evening," she chided. "A proper honeymoon. Let's go away."

"Back to Lake Tahoe?" he suggested.

"Why don't we go on a voyage? You can show me the sea."

"We could rent a sloop; I'd be your captain and crew..." Bill's eyes shone with excitement.

"Well...yes. But I was thinking of something with a dance floor and orchestra," said Laura, looking to the club's band which was beginning to play a jaunty tune. "I do so enjoy dancing with you."

He chuckled, accepting Laura's idea of going to sea was quite different from his own. "As my lady wishes. Some posh liner. To where?"

"Oh, I doesn't matter, as long we're alone together." Her face lit up again. "We'll pick up some pamphlets from a travel agent."

"Let's dance now." He stood and pulled her from her chair.

They moved onto the polished dance floor, finding their own spot. It was a lively beat, and Bill soon found himself becoming winded. Laura shifted her hips, bringing their bodies in closer contact than was utterly proper. Her wicked eyes sparkled at him. He returned her grin with a sickly smile. He'd allowed himself to dare and have expectations for the evening's close, but now he wasn't so sure. The spirit and flesh were willing, but his endurance may be weak.

"What were you saying about going home?" she murmured in his ear. Her perfumed hair tickled his nose.

He nodded, determined. "Yeah, let's get out of here."

Laura and Bill tumbled through the doorway from the garage and tossed their coats in the general direction of Old Jaffee's waiting arms.

They waited impatiently, their hands lightly and discreetly touching each others body behind the butler's back. Completing his task quickly, the older man marched out of the foyer without a backward glance, his dignity intact.

"That wasn't polite of us," Bill murmured with no regret in his voice as he immediately pulled his wife close and began to suckle on her neck. "Especially after what we just put his son through in the car."

Laura pushed on Bill's shoulders so she could see his eyes. "What did we do to Young Jaffee?" she demanded to know. "We never said a word!"

"My point exactly." He chuckled roughly. "Our 'silence' was very disturbing to someone that sheltered. He may be rethinking taking on his new position in the household."

"Hmph." Laura lolled her head to give him access to the other side of her neck. "It will do him good. Make him remember that life doesn't end after thirty."

Laura looped her arm in his and led them to the staircase. In her eagerness she forgot to slow down for her recovering husband, and instead she bustled them along at her usual frantic pace.

At the top of the stairs, Bill began to feel the effects of the day. His routine over the past few weeks had included several hours of rest everyday. Today, he'd dispensed with this luxury to see off Saul and visit the jewelers all before going out to a club with dancing.

He felt a faint sheen of sweat break out across his upper lip, and he gripped the banister tightly to steady himself.

Laura's hold on his arm slipped away as she trotted on ahead to her bedroom, blissfully unaware of his struggle and ready to return to the routine they'd enjoyed before he was shot.

Then she realized that he wasn't following her and looked back. Her face immediately filled with worry. And pity.

"Bill, darling, you've overdone it!"

"I'm all right," he insisted, pushing away from the stair railing to follow her.

"No. Oh, please, darling, I can wait," she said nobly.

She took his arm and guided him down the hallway, this time at a snail's pace, past her room until they reached his bedroom door. "Now, I want you to go in and go straight to sleep. I won't disturb you, I promise."

His lower lip protruded petulantly. "But I want to-"

"No," she said firmly, pushing open the door.

His arm slipped around her waist and his nose burrowed under her thick hair again, finding her earlobe to nibble. His low voice was cajoling. "Surely we could just slowly warm up to-"

Her knees weakening, Laura's conviction was just starting to waver when Bill was interrupted by a firm voice.

"Mr Adams! You're home. Finally." Erin Mathias rose from the stool where she'd been waiting, her back rigidly erect.

"I'll just turn down your bed for you." The nurse folded back the bedding, ironing out any wrinkles in the sheets with the back of her hand.

Bill's hand slid off Laura's hip and he stepped away from her. Laura shrank back under the nurse's examining stare.

Perhaps the nurse was right. As tempting as Bill's suggestion to take things slow was, she couldn't chance it. She loved him too much to let her selfish desires stand in the way of his full recovery.

So she bid them goodnight and slowly returned to her own bedroom, her feet dragging. She quickly undressed and put on a sensible cotton nightgown, turning her tear-filled eyes away from the blue satin gown with its plunging neckline and back that she'd put out for what she'd hoped would be a very brief appearance. She crawled between the new linens she'd especially purchased for Bill. Sensing her despondent mood, Jake leapt out of his bed that had been in the corner of her room since Bill had come home-Nurse Mathias had banished the dog as too unsanitary.

He lay his head beside her on the bed and looked up with large, sad eyes.

"It's just us again, dear," she murmured, patting the mattress. Jake hopped up and nestled beside her in the space meant for Bill.

~~AV~~

Erin Mathias' cold and forceful hands were unbuttoning and prodding and maneuvering and buttoning until Bill was out of his tuxedo and into his plain white pajamas.

The thought of how Laura's hands could have handled the same procedure with much more pleasing results made him tingle in certain places at the same time as his shoulders slumped.

"Miss Mathias!" he suddenly barked, startling her.

She took a step back. "Yes, Mr Adams?" she said cautiously. Patients were known to go mad occasionally.

"Please, Miss Mathias, you gotta a medical bag?" he asked urgently.

"Well, yes, of course, Mr Adams." Blinking at him with trepidation, she gestured to a brown leather case with a red cross emblazoned on the side.

"Quick; com'on." Bill picked up the bag and grabbed Erin Mathias' arm, dragging her down the stairs with him.

"You have a coat?" he asked, opening the foyer closet.

Struck dumb, she nodded and pointed out a drab, brown garment. Practical before a spectacle, she'd always said. Courteous to the end, he helped her on with the coat.

He ushered her out the front door. "Don't worry, Miss Mathias, we'll send you payment along with a month's extra wages check!" he assured her right before he slammed the door shut in her stunned face.

After taking a deep breath, a slow grin spread across Bill's face. He looked up at the grand, swooping staircase. Going up was going to be more difficult than the trip down, but he could still count on some adrenaline to get him out of dry dock. He was set to sail!

Like a soldier plotting a battle plan, Bill first took the stairs slowly and carefully, conserving his strength. Now he stood outside Laura's door. He raised his fist to knock, then changed his mind. He needed to swarm over her battlements.

He banged the door open; it crashed against the wall, rocking on its hinges.

"Bill!?" she gasped, clutching her book to her chest, her glasses sliding down her nose in shock. "What's wrong!?"

She was propped up in bed with his supposedly faithful dog curled up beside her. Jake cocked his head, his tail thumping in welcome, but he didn't move from Laura's side.

Pulling her glasses off and putting them aside with her book, she quickly licked her lips. "Is there something I can do for you?" she asked, her voice husky.

He blinked, suddenly noticing the change to the room. Gone was the delicately-turned furniture in light tones. The wood was now dark and sleek with silver inlays. The deep white carpet had been replaced by a vividly patterned rug of deep colors. And the ivory satin tufted headboard was now black leather, setting off Laura's hair like a flame. The wheat-colored curtains were drawn closed, making him feel as though he'd walked into a cozy golden cave.

"What the hell has happened in here?" he asked.

"I made a few changes," she said, uncertain. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah," he said, sounding surprised. He strolled around, momentarily diverted, and if he dared to contemplate it, needing a few minutes to get his courage back.

"I got a couple of paintings that would look nice in here now," he said. "We'll have to go fetch them from my Uncle Sam's chicken farm. Been keeping them in a barn for years."

There was a nervous giggle in her voice when she asked, "You have an Uncle Sam?"

He sank down on the low bench at the foot of the bed. Glancing over his shoulder, he grinned at her. "My Yankee side comin' out."

"Do you really like it, Bill?" she asked again.

Turning, he found her foot under the covers and gave it a squeeze. "Yep," he said simply. "Thank you."

"It's just the start," she said, her confidence back. Her toes wiggled in his hand. "We'll go room by room, making this your home too."

His thumb ran up her arch, making her writhe on the bed. He went on as though he didn't notice. "Got my father's desk in that barn too. I'd love to put it in the office."

"Whatever you want," she panted, her head lolling on the pillow.

"I want-"

She suddenly snapped upright, her expression contrite. "Oh Bill!" Guiltily, she pushed her curls back into some order. "You should go back to your room. Get some rest."

"I've been replaced, huh?" Bill flipped the covers back over her foot and glared at his dog.

"No, not at all," she assured him. "I'm just so concerned about you-"

"Are you calling me a coward?" he asked, crafty.

Her eyes widened. "Of course not!"

He crawled up the bed. "Then trust me, I'm willing to take the risk. Just like riding up San Juan Hill..."

His hands searched for her soft curves under the bedding.

Laura's best intentions fled with his caresses and his lips on her collarbone. "If you must conquer me..."

His rough chuckle trembled at her throat's pulse.

"Oh, darling..." she gasped. "Welcome back."

The bed rocked-

Bill stopped. Laura grabbed a handful of his pajamas. "What's wrong?" she wailed.

"Sorry, Jake. Back in the basket tonight, boy," his master ordered. "The big dog's come home."

As soon as Jake jumped off the mattress Bill rolled into the spot he vacated. With a whimper, the dog circled and settled into his own bed.

Laura fumbled for the lamp and snapped it off.

"You know," Bill said, maddeningly in control. "If I'm here to stay, you're going to have to give up some room in your dressing room for my clothes."

"You'd better make such sacrifices worth it, Mr Adams." Belying her cool tone, Laura was frustrated nearly to madness because _he_ was atop the bedding and _she_ was under the bedclothes. She tugged futilely at his pajamas; yanked at her coverlet; tossed aside pillows-

His grin glinted in the dark room. Like a sailor trimming his sails, he efficiently flipped the covers back and found her under the fine linens. "I'll see what I can do," he promised.

THE END~Unbreakable

Next! The smutty prequel!


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